House Of Cards book 3:Watching Shadows Fall
by graceofgod
Summary: With angels and demons out to get them, the brothers just need somewhere to hole up, time to heal and the small town of Devil's Shores, Texas seems the perfect place to lose themselves in.
1. Recap

**_A/N1:_** _Two years ago I started writing this story, the third part of my series, House of Cards. And then I got distracted by, well, by all sorts of things; like writing for the Virtual Season, organising and writing in a round robin and the dreaded RL. This story got put on the backburner but it wouldn't ever quite leave me alone. I had this image, back when I first started it, of the final scene in my head in glorious technicolour, surround sound, smell-o-vision. The works, in short, and I never managed to forget it._

_Maybe because it took so long, but I've really enjoyed writing this story, and really love where it ended up taking the boys to get to that final scene. Posting this though, I'm a little nervous. So much has happened to our favourite characters in the last season-and-a-half since this is set, there've been so many revelations and changes, this almost feels 'old school', even though it's set mid-S4._

_Wow. I'm waffling again. Shutting up now._

_Enjoy the show!_

_**A/N2: **__This chapter is a b__rief recap of the first two stories, State of Grace and The Darkness Before The Dawn. Since it's been soooo long..._

_**Full summary: **_

_With angels and demons out to get them, the brothers just need somewhere to hole up, time to heal and the small town of Devil's Shores, Texas seems the perfect place to lose themselves in. But if it wasn't for bad luck, they wouldn't have no luck at all, and soon Sam and Dean find themselves in the middle of a fight for the town. Alone, against impossible odds, they're faced with choices that might damn them forever, or save one of the last seals - and the world. _

_**:: :: ::**_

_**THEN**_

_**:: :: ::**_

**1996**

John Winchester leaves his sons behind in Litchfield, Maine, while he hunts a pack of revenants. A biker gang who now call themselves The Immortals, the walking undead have haunted the back roads of the Eastern states for a century or more, preying on the isolated and the forgotten people who live and travel there. Tracking them through Connecticut and Pennsylvania, John kills the pack off, one by one until he confronts the final member of The Immortals, only to come face to face with his worst nightmare. The monsters he's hunting have found his family.

In Litchfield, Dean is struggling to keep Sammy and himself off the radar. Out of money and out of time, they finally start squatting in an abandoned house until one day, they're confronted by three bikers. Unnaturally fast and strong, the eldest boy is no match for them and they're quickly taken captive in the cellar of their temporary home. The three revenants are hungry for revenge, promising to turn Sammy into one of their own.

John arrives in time to save his boys, but one Immortal escapes.

**2008**

Twelve years after the events in Litchfield, Maine, Dean and Sam have forgotten about The Immortals, but the last surviving member of the original gang hasn't forgotten about them. A chance meeting in a bar leads to a desperate hunt for his brother as Sam is forced to relive the terrifying events that took place. With Bobby Singer's help, he finds Dean back in Litchfield but his brother is badly injured, physically and emotionally broken.

Healing is slow but day by day, the brothers find their feet, until what should have been a routine hunt ends in near-fatal disaster – with consequences that reach far beyond anything either of them could understand. With Dean slowly slipping away again, Sam is faced with a terrible choice and makes one final, desperate bid to save his brother's life. Summoning a loa, a Haitian god of the dead, it warns him that saving Dean could change everything, for both of them but Sam begs the Ghede to bring his brother back.

In an apparently miraculous recovery, it heals the hunter and the brothers hit the road before anyone can start asking questions. Needing to get back to something approaching normal, they find a hunt in Minnesota, where people have been turning up brutally battered to death on the shores of Thief lake. Finding the monster is easier than killing it though, and things look grim for the Winchesters once again, until an eerie power uses Dean to drain the life out of the monster and Sam is left wondering just what the Ghede meant when it warned him that saving his brother might change them both.


	2. The Red, Red Changes In The Sky

A/N: Hugest thanks to RoweenaC for the long-distance hand holding and two years of drooling, and to Primrose, for curbing my long-as-a-piece-of-string sentences... Seriously. She had this in her tender, lovin' care for all of a week and about doubled the punctuation. It's a good thing. Trust me. (Or her.)

Spoiler warnings: set immediately after 4x10 (Heaven & Hell) so anything up to that point is fair game. Additional warnings for potty mouths and the odd gory bit.

I disclaim, therefore I am. Not mine, generating no money. Or shame.

_**:: :: ::**_

_**NOW**_

_**:: :: ::**_

_**The Red, Red Changes in the Sky.**_

_It took a moment before I lost myself in here._

_It took a moment and I could not be found._

_Again and again and again and again I see your face in everything,_

_It took a moment the moment it could not be found._

_**~~HoC~~**_

"Well that's not creepy at all."

Sam blinked himself awake, stared blearily through the window for a moment, trying to remember how to make his eyes focus and felt his brother's gaze skitter over his skin.

"What?" he finally managed, the word garbled by fading dreams and confusion.

"The town. Devil's Shores."

He reached up, knuckled sleep out of his eyes and blinked again, finally seeing clearly and wishing he hadn't bothered as he glanced over at the older man behind the wheel, lit too clearly by the afternoon sun.

Dean was pale, skin around shuttered eyes tight and bruised, lips drawn together into a pathetic shadow of a grin as his hands tightened around the wheel, tendons writhing as his grip shifted and locked. It wasn't a new look.

"We still in Mississippi?"

Sam had never had the same internal map of the country his brother had, the name of the town meaning nothing at all to him and with no idea how long he'd been sleeping, he had no way of knowing where they were.

"Texas."

"Oh."

Five states. Non-stop.

If that didn't scream of running, he didn't know what did. He shifted in the seat, dragging himself up from his slouch, silently glad of the big car, remembering falling asleep in Louis' Mondeo back in Stanford once and needing his friends' help to climb out again after his legs and back seized up completely.

Sam winced a little as he stretched, feeling bruises on top of bruises tingle uncomfortably. Jumping out of windows was never a good idea, even with an SUV beneath to break your fall and he ached in places he didn't know he had.

Glancing over at his brother again as the older man resettled his left arm, resting across his lap when it would normally be draped along the window sill, he wondered how Dean was still awake, still functioning.

…_I wish I couldn't feel anything, Sammy… _

Then again, maybe he knew. Somehow, the young hunter thought that maybe the pain of his brother's injuries was still less than the pain of the nightmares waiting for him. He sighed under his breath, faked a yawn to cover it up as Dean shot a quick glare in his direction.

"We stopping?"

He could almost feel the indecision in his brother as Dean hesitated, then sighed himself.

"Yeah. I gotta take a leak, and my baby needs some gas."

"Dean…" _We need to __**stop. **__Stop running, just for a while._

"Don't, Sam. I know."

It was hoarse, a bitter reminder of the battles they'd so nearly lost. The war they hadn't won. A chill crept down his spine as he listened to a quiet laugh in his head, a sound like gravestones scraping together. Sam frowned, turned it to the window so the older man couldn't see the hurt in his eyes, couldn't read the futile prayers behind it.

_I just want to help, man. But I don't know how. I think maybe you were right. There's no making this better. _

He saw the reflection behind him in the glass, his brother's bloodshot eyes staring back at him, one hand rubbing absently at the shadows that were all that was left of the faded scars ringing his throat. His heart twisted in his chest, a sharp pang of guilt as he thought again that this was the only way they really looked at each other now, that across five states they'd existed in a world of monosyllabic questions and non-answers, of avoiding each other while they sat side by side.

Houses began to drift past as the town grew around them, hiding the wide river.

_Devil's Shores, _he guessed, wondering at the name, once-buried instincts stirring. With an internal shrug, he set the idle curiosity aside. The one thing he didn't want right now was a hunt. The car rocked beneath him as Dean slowed, the _cl-click, cl-click _of the blinkers loud in the quiet as he signaled to turn into a gas station.

Sam was out of his door before the engine even rumbled into stillness, stretching again, spine crackling loudly.

"Freakin' Sasquatch."

The quiet mutter made him grin as he turned to stride across the forecourt, heading for the bathroom. The smile still stretched his lips as he locked the door behind him, but it dropped like a stone as he saw the haggard stranger in the mirror.

"Jesus."

In the gloomy bathroom, pale skin stood out like a beacon, bruises turning his face piebald, etched with scrapes. He took a slow, hesitant step closer, saw the blood still ground into his fingers as he reached up and traced the line of stubble in his reflection.

Licking dry lips, he leaned against the cracked, dirty sink, gripping it tightly as vertigo swamped him, threatened to drop him to the filthy floor.

He squeezed his eyes shut, forced himself to take slow, even breaths in, forcing them out through his teeth as his heart pounded at his ribs, exhaustion both physical and emotional shaking him hard.

Slowly, it passed and he opened his eyes, pried one hand free of the porcelain and twisted the tap. Cloudy water sputtered out, gritty against his fingers as he cupped them under the ragged flow and splashed the tepid handful over his face. Dripping, he reached out for a towel, scraping one knuckle against the rusty edge of the empty dispenser. The thin skin tore, a narrow trickle of blood winding hot and slick over his fingers and something snapped inside him, all the restraint and frustration that had been choking him for hours suddenly overwhelming. He froze, bloodied hand slowly curling into a trembling fist.

The crack of the mirror shattering as he slammed it into the pitted glass seemed muted, dull against the roaring in his ears as he snarled at the crazed reflection.

"_Sam?"_

He flinched at the call from the other side of the battered door, spun away from it, away from the sight of himself but he couldn't _not _hear his brother as Dean pounded on the metal.

"_Sam! Open the damn door!"_

"In a minute," he tried to call, nothing but a strangled whisper coming out as he tried to force down the memory of sitting silent and still on the car as his brother fell apart, doing _nothing _as Dean shattered right there beside him, guilt and grief as effective walls as anything the elder Winchester had ever built inside his own head.

The door shook in its frame, _"Sam!" _ Ringing as something slammed into it, again, the hunter stumbling into the tiny room as it gave way under the third kick. Sam half-turned before he could stop himself, before he could hide the tears that burned guiltily on his cheeks and he heard his brother stop dead in his tracks, would have sworn neither of them even breathed, the silence was so complete.

It held, stifling and oppressive until his skin crawled and his stomach churned, the urge to reach out building and fading with every beat of his heart. Finally, the older man turned without a word, walked out, carefully pulling the warped, twisted door closed behind him and Sam winced as the latch clicked into wobbly place.

He realized his hands were clenched into fists so tight he could feel his fingernails gouging at his palms and forced them to uncurl slowly. The knuckles crackled, sounding just like his spine had, minutes earlier.

_Freakin' Sasquatch._

He swallowed down the sob that wanted to escape, suddenly missing his big brother with a longing so acute it took his breath away, the fragment of Dean's habitual sarcasm and snark not enough to let him believe the lie the older man tried so hard to sell.

He turned to the cracked mirror, met his own stare squarely.

"You're not okay, man. You're not, and maybe you were right, maybe I can't make it better. But I have to try. I have to."

It hung behind him as he hauled the door open and strode out into the forecourt, blinking a little in the bright sunlight, incongruously warm against his skin. The Impala stood behind the pumps, sleek and dark under the dust, and empty.

Spinning on his heel, Sam made it halfway to the door of the small shop before he realized there was no sign of his brother inside either, no sign of anyone other than the bored clerk dozing behind the counter.

He turned a quick three-sixty, worry sliding up his spine as he scanned the road, the empty lots on either side of the garage, the river shore peaking through the buildings on the other side of the road and _there, _just before a semi roared between them with a rush of hot tar and diesel, a flash of short hair and leather, half-hidden by a scraggly, dead-looking tree beside the river.

:: ::

The tree was uneven, hard against his back. A worn stump of broken branch dug painfully into the back of his shoulder, sent sharp tingles down to his fingers but he didn't move, wasn't sure he could if he wanted to. It wouldn't take long for Sam to find him, he'd made sure he was visible from the parking lot when he'd first spotted the leaning, leafless tree and headed for it as if it was an oasis in the desert, something to put his back to in the face of the pity and horrified awe he'd seen in his brother's eyes.

_Don't pity me. Not for what I did._

Dean screwed his eyes shut at the thought, felt the burn of his own tears in his throat and locked it down, twisting his aching shoulder back into the stump until pain flared hot up his neck and down his arm. He hissed out a slow breath between his teeth, waited for the flare to dull back into the muted throb it had settled into during the long drive, buzzing harshly in his ears.

Through the hum, he heard metal scrape, the bathroom door slamming shut across the gas station forecourt and grit his teeth, stared hard out over the wide river.

_Move. Now._

It shivered under his skin, curled his hands into fists and he saw himself push up, run back to the Impala and peel out, leaving his brother standing in the dust.

_Just keep moving._

He would never be able to outrun it and that knowledge turned bitter and sharp in his mouth, burned in his throat until he coughed, lifted one fist and pressed his knuckles deep under his jaw, rubbing his thumb across the thin faint ridges of raised tissue.

Behind him, a heavy engine rumbled, trembling through the ground and as it faded he heard footsteps hurrying across the road, scuffing in the dirt and even as a weight eased off his chest, his shoulders climbed up, scraping against the tree. A tall figure flickered in the corner of his eye but he didn't move, just shut his eyes and waited for his brother to sigh and wander down to the water's edge, letting it lap at his toes, grimacing at the oily film on top of the murky water and taking a long stride back. Dean snorted a little.

"You get that crud on your shoes, you're walking."

He cracked open one eye, watched the tall hunter shy further away from the foul river. Letting it drift closed again, he tipped his head back against the rough bark, weariness uncurling through him, dragging at his shoulders. The sound of the water drowned out the rush of traffic on the road behind him, then faded itself into the steady beat behind his eyes. He lifted one hand, pinched the bridge of his nose between finger and thumb, as if he could squeeze out the dull ache that had clogged his mind up since he recognized the gloating demon trying to pound his face to hamburger.

"Like you could drive anywhere right now."

The soft mutter was suddenly close, right in his ear and he started, tried to cover it up with a false smile.

"Dude, I could drive to freakin' Alaska right now."

It carried a bite, a quiet edge of warning but his brother didn't seem to notice, just quirked one eyebrow sceptically at him.

"Sure, Dean."

"Sam."

There was nothing quiet about the warning now, the name bitten off sharply, the smile long gone. The younger man just lifted a hand and Dean scowled as he saw keys dangling from Sam's fingers.

"You picked my pocket?"

It was meant to be a growl; instead it came out closer to a whisper.

"I wouldn't be able to if you weren't practically out cold, Dean."

He thumped his head back against the tree, huffing out an exaggerated sigh. Problem was, he knew his brother was right. Sam never should have been able to get close enough to him to pull the keys from his pocket, but distracted by the throbbing in his head and shoulder, by the bruises inside and out, Dean hadn't even noticed they were gone.

"There's a motel a couple blocks down."

It sounded so reasonable when Sam said it, no reason at all for the idea of stopping for the night to make his heart trip over itself, to turn his palms clammy with the same cold sweat that trickled down his back and almost hid the chill lurking at the base of his spine as it stirred restlessly.

He held out a hand, let his brother pull him to his feet, steadying each other as they both swayed a little.

"Fine, but I'm drivin'."

He could almost hear the protest, knew exactly what his brother would say and snatched the keys out of Sam's hand where it hovered by his elbow.

"It's a couple blocks, right?" Dean forced the rasp out of his voice, let the sarcasm drown it. "Think I can manage that, Sam."

He had to, simple as that, clinging onto what little control he had left after letting the walls around the memories that wouldn't fade crumble into a tear-soaked confession. He would never have given it without the heat of the engine-warmed hood under the backs of his thighs, without the subtle touch of home surrounding him.

The hunter pulled away, refusing to acknowledge the shaking in his legs as he strode back to the car, hauling the door open, the world blurring as he heard the familiar groan. He blinked away the weary sting in his eyes, wondering again why, in the four months he'd been…_gone, _Sam hadn't fixed the creak that used to annoy the younger man. And wondering again why it mattered so much that he hadn't.

The passenger door creaked, leather squeaking softly as his brother slid in beside him. He dropped his left arm into his lap, feeling the pounding beat in his shoulder echo through his head and fade into the rumbling purr of the engine. But his heart still skipped a beat at the thought of stopping, of being still for long enough for the past to catch up again, his palms slick against the steering wheel as he gripped it hard.

"Dean?"

The hunter blinked, realizing he'd been sitting there, silently throttling the steering wheel, staring blankly at the faint reflection of a bruised face he barely recognized in the glass.

"Yeah."

Beside him, Sam paused, drew breath and huffed it out again without saying a word. He turned to the window, slouched down in the seat, leaned his head against it and Dean heard the dry click in his throat as he swallowed. It was too quiet, the radio silent and the hush was oppressive, cloying but he didn't move to turn it on, didn't want to jar the fragile peace. He felt his brother glance over at him, still had to remind himself that the weight of the younger man's eyes was real, not some delusion.

Sam sighed slowly, still watching him in the window as Dean sat beside him, knuckles white around the wheel, the ragged growl of the engine filling the silence and the empty space between them.

_**:: :: ::**_

_**A/N2: **As always, the playlist (for lyrics and chapter titles) will come at the end. This story is completed, so will post every week, hopefully._

_Thanks for reading..._


	3. You Feel So Hollow

You Feel So Hollow

_You wanna know, _

_just how long you can hide from,  
What you are.  
Not very long.  
I have been lost,  
Down every road I follow.  
Out in the dark,  
On my way home._

_~~HoC~~_

Sound reached down into dreams of screaming, of hot metal and cold flesh in his hands. He followed it back to the world, strangely reluctant, the nightmares so familiar by now he could almost, _almost _remember it wasn't real, the hope from the certainty that it was going to end with dawn light and Sam both getting in his face enough to make it bearable.

But there was something about that sound that reached him in the cold and the dark, something he knew, had known for far longer than even the oldest of the memories wandering through his sleep.

Fear. And pain.

Somewhere, someone was hurting and terrified. He woke up fast, blinking for a moment in the dark, disoriented by the similarity between the sound scape of nightmare and reality. Behind him, he could feel his brother's awareness, heard Sam's breathing pattern shift and knew he was awake. Neither man spoke or moved, feigning sleep as they listened, hearing screams and snarling and howling.

His blood turned to ice as he recognized it, one hand drifting up to his chest, unnoticed, curling around the small charms, warm with his body heat, the only motion in the dark room and he knew Sam caught it even before his brother spoke.

"Dean?"

He couldn't speak, feeling phantom claws tear at skin and flesh, catching on bone, smelling his own blood as it pooled beneath him, almost lost beneath the acrid stench of the air burning as Lilith turned on Sam.

"Dean? What…?"

Sam trailed off and the older man forced out a grunt, clamping his lips together as it tried to turn into a whimper. He shivered, felt the wood against his palm turn hot for an instant, then adrenaline picked him up and rolled him out of bed, sheets slithering to the floor at his feet as something thudded against the door.

Through the window, he saw shadows, dancing, falling, heard the screams fading as whatever it was outside their room scrabbled at the wood. He felt the blood drain from his face as it growled, so low he felt it rather than heard it, rumbling through his bones, shaking him to the core. It froze him to the spot, sent ice trickling through his veins, wickedly sharp as it turned his stomach.

"Dean?"

This time, it was shaky, scared, eight years old and finding out that the monsters under the bed are real after all.

"Hellhound."

He shuddered as he whispered the months old echo, heard Sam's gasp through the roaring in his ears as the door shook in its frame, _something _pounding at it from the outside. His fingers tightened around the knife he hadn't even known he was holding as wood splintered, then a cry sounded, two rooms over, thin and high and the clawing stopped.

It snarled one last time and sniffed, a long, low snuffling sound that sent ice skating down the hunter's back, curling up again with the cold from that dark, empty place at the base of his spine. His shoulders sagged as they heard the soft thump of its feet padding away, his balance wavering as he leaned back against the bed, the hard mattress sliding away a little under his weight.

Behind him, he heard his brother draw breath, huff it out again and he could feel the younger man's worried frown as Sam's stare tracked over his shoulders. Dean looked down at the carpet, listening to the screams outside as his brother stepped closer, a warm presence at his side as he slouched against the bed, fingers white around the hilt in his hand.

"Was that… did you hear that? Before?"

Sam's voice was hoarse, almost strangled. He couldn't answer, just nodded roughly as the scream came again, the sound carrying easily through the thin walls. It stopped suddenly, too abruptly, the savage whisper of bones shattering drifting to them in the quiet.

It broke the spell, the ice that his blood had turned into thawing with a heady rush as he whipped round, snatched his jeans from the floor and yanked them on, almost tripping in his haste. Spinning again, eyes searching for his boots, he snapped at his brother, still staring at him.

"Move, Sam!"

Dean ignored the pounding in his chest, the lump in his throat that tried to choke him as spotted his boots, kicked carelessly under the edge of the bed and stamped his feet into them. He chewed at his lip, free hand drifting up to brush against the amulet and charm on their thong around his neck again, heavy and warm against his skin as he eyed the door uncertainly.

The last thing on earth he wanted to do was go out there. Scars he knew he didn't carry itched, the savage rents across his chest, shoulder and thigh burning fiercely as a chill sweat trickled down his back.

"Ready?"

Dean blinked, realized his brother was standing in front of the door wearing his shirt, the one he'd dumped on Sam's head as he passed the younger man that evening, staring at the laptop in full geek-boy mode on his way to the shower. The tall hunter rested one hand on the handle, gazing back at him quietly. He forced down the not-so-irrational urge to drag Sam away and bundle him up in every quilt and blanket he could lay his hands on before stuffing him in the bathroom and locking the door.

"Yeah," he croaked, footsteps sure and steady as he slipped in front of his brother. Sam nudged his arm, handing over a gun and Dean almost smiled as his fingers closed around the worn grip. The younger man pulled the door open in one swift, sharp movement and he surged through, the Colt raised, index finger curled around the trigger.

The street was empty. Silent. He stared for a moment, shaking his head, not sure if he was trying to convince himself that it was all a dream or that it wasn't. The door clicked and his brother's shadow mingled with his own in the bright moonlight, the horizon a dark blur against the taint of gray on the sky. False dawn. Sam shifted uneasily at his shoulder, drawing breath to speak but Dean stepped forward, cocking his head to one side, listening to something on the very edge of awareness.

He let his eyes drift closed, knowing Sam would watch for him as focused his attention on the distant sound. He recognized it, again, the tiny noise stirring something old and almost forgotten, something from long years of sleepless nights, of sitting up alone waiting in empty motel rooms as his brother slept peacefully, ignorantly in the bedroom.

A child, crying, the sound muffled by more than distance and walls. Crying, and trying to stifle the sound.

His head snapped up, eyes wide in the silvered dark as he turned, one way then the other, trying to pinpoint the sound.

"What is it?"

He scowled as his brother's whisper made him lose it again.

"Don't you hear that?"

"Hear what?"

Dean rolled his eyes and huffed, then paused, eyes slipping half closed as the sound crept through the night again.

"There."

"_What?"_

He didn't answer, just set off down the street, shivering a little as he realized he was only wearing his t-shirt. Adrenaline kicked through his veins, shoving the chill to the back of his mind, ramping up his heart rate and his breathing as he led the way along the sidewalk, past cars that bore more than enough evidence of the hounds' presence. Metal gaped at them in long, jagged-tooth grins, shattered glass crunching underfoot from windshields and windows. Not just from cars, he noted, spotting more than one set of curtains waving idly through the ruins of more windows in the buildings lining the street.

The breeze that stirred them brought more proof. The thick, cloying stench of blood cut through with the heavy, sharp edge of sulfur and rank fur. He dragged in a ragged breath, forced it out slowly as he felt panic twitch along his nerves, the faintest echo of screams stinging the backs of his eyes. Breaking into a jog, he tried to leave them behind, get away from the shadow that came at him from the dark, shifting, crouched on all fours and snarling one minute, staring at him with feral eyes and a smile stained with his own blood the next. He was half aware that his feet ached from slamming against the ground, that he was running blind through a town infested with Hellhounds but he couldn't stop, couldn't see past the shadow leaning over him, ancient wood twisting in its hand as the charm on his chest burned and his head snapped to the side, rocked back.

"Dean!"

He blinked, realized he wasn't running but he was panting hard and that his cheek was stinging.

"S-Sam?"

His brother looked wild eyed, long hair disheveled, shaking his hand a little as if it stung.

"You back with me?"

"Wha –"

He couldn't find the breath to finish, staggering back to lean against the wall, the rough brickwork scraping at his bare arm a little as he slid down it until his backside rested on the narrow ledge running the width of the building.

"You freaked."

Dean frowned.

"Jesus, Sam. Little compassion here?"

The younger man leaned beside him, panting just as heavily as he softened his tone a little, gasping out the words between breaths. Dean watched Sam as his eyes flickered over the street, picking out the shadows, searching them. Standing guard, he realized, and felt something unwind in his gut.

"You took off. Wouldn't listen, wouldn't… wouldn't stop. You were running like… like the hounds were after you."

He felt the blood drain from his face, layered the masks on, inside and out.

"So you slapped me?"

"Worked, didn't it?"

The hunter had to nod at that.

"What did you hear?"

"Kid. Crying."

"Crap."

Dean listened to the fear in his brother's voice, empathetic hurt for the child whose life had just fallen apart and scanned the street, pushing away from the building.

"Had to be down here somewhere."

A hand under his elbow steadied him as he swayed, vision tunneling for a moment. He let it stay there for a moment, silent thanks before he pulled away with a shrug, resettling his grip on the gun still clutched in his sweaty hand.

"C'mon."

He hadn't been quite so glad for his brother's presence at his back since they walked out of Cold Oak.

:: ::

Creeping down the street behind his brother, Sam felt the hairs on the nape of his neck stand on end, the unmistakeable sensation of something watching them familiar. The quiet was beginning to get to him, his nerves crawling with anticipation of attack.

He nearly jumped out of his skin when a howl split the night, another, a third and more joining the crescendo and he swallowed hard, shared a quick look with the older man as they realized the town was surrounded.

In the wake of the eerie sound, almost lost beneath the distant yelping and snarling that followed, the crying came again. Sam crowded against Dean, nodding towards a building on the other side of the street. They crossed the street at a run, soft footfalls echoing in the deserted street. The younger man watched his brother as much as the town around them, his skin crawling with the Hellish cries on the edge of the town. Something burned inside him as he caught a glimpse of the pallor of Dean's face, chalk gray and taut, eyes dark with fear; unguarded and unreachable..

Sometimes, ever since the moment he'd watched lightning play around a bullet hole in the possessed janitors' chest, watched the yellow eyes that had haunted them, hounded them for so long fade into the dead man's empty hazel, it seemed that they'd never stopped being scared.

He knew Dean still suffered through the nightmares that nearly broke them both after the Revenants took him. He never doubted that his brother dreamed of the pit as well, he'd watched the older man struggle and whisper in his sleep often enough, though he'd only understood half of what he'd heard. Until yesterday.

Now he understood, all right. Now he wished he didn't.

In front of him, Dean suddenly ducked to the side, grunting softly as he slammed a shoulder into a wide door. It shuddered in its frame, popped open against a security chain and Sam had to reach out, grab for his brother's hand as Dean snarled, aiming the Colt at the thin links of weathered brass.

"Whoa, whoa, easy man."

He could feel muscles trembling and bunching under his grip, could feel the effort it took his brother to lower the gun. He waited, holding on until Dean sighed, huffing out a heavy breath, shoulders sagging.

"I'm good."

Sam winced. In the last few weeks, he'd finally gotten used to the rasp that never quite left his brother's voice, but the huskiness in it now had nothing to do with the scars fading from around his neck. He took one more look at his brother and said nothing, pushing gently past the older man and easing up to the door.

He took his time slipping the blade of his penknife through the gap and under the chain, twisting it savagely as he listened to Dean swallow hard behind him. The chain ripped out of the lock and he caught the door before it could swing back against the wall. Sam twisted, folding the knife and slipping it back into his pocket, scanning the dimly lit hallway on the other side of the hollow doorway.

It was narrow, even before the staircase that crept up along one wall. Paint flaked away from crumbling plaster, the tiled floor cracked and black with ground in dirt. He sighed.

_Just once, it'd be nice to get a gig in some fancy hotel somewhere._

The ratty shade hanging off-center in the ceiling flickered, glowed briefly, went out again and the only light left was the weak, pale tint drifting down the stairs, and the brighter fan splayed around his feet. But the short moment of illumination was all he needed to see the door, far back in the shadows at the end of the corridor, jerking shut suddenly.

"Dean."

"Saw it."

The roughness was almost gone, hidden behind the masks the younger man had come to rely on, much as he hated it. He'd seen behind them, just a few times – leaning against the hood of the Impala on a winding mountain road as Dean looked at him, tears in his eyes, the deep scar winding up from his brow vivid in the low sunlight. Fear, lingering behind the love in his brother's gaze as he choked out, _'Sammy, remember what Dad taught you, okay? And remember what I taught you.' _Sitting in the parking garage, Dean's face a pale blur, eyes too wide, too dark, _'He forgot to breathe, after a while. He just…stopped.' _And then yesterday, still aching and sore and dazed after their tangle with the war between the angels and demons. _'I wish I couldn't feel a damn thing, Sammy.' _

Thinking back, he realized it was always his brother's voice that broke first, always the cock-sure, arrogant smirk in it that shattered, long before the walls behind his eyes crumbled.

A hand slapped at his chest in passing, and he flinched a little, back against the door frame as Dean squeezed past him, green eyes flashing with intent.

"C'mon, Princess."

He fell in behind his brother; let his gaze wander from the stairs to the doors lining the hall to the t-shirt, clinging to Dean's back, sweat-soaked despite the chill in the air. The brothers crept down the hall, freezing once when something groaned upstairs, low, rough, the sound too soft to identify. Sam met Dean's stare as the older man twisted, peering back at him over one shoulder, and shrugged a little, skating his finger over the trigger guard on his Taurus.

He watched the stairs after that.

Waiting behind his brother, eying the length of the hallway, Sam waited as Dean rapped his knuckles against the door.

"Hey. It's okay."

A whimper from the other side, quickly stifled and Sam shifted back, giving his brother room to crouch closer to the door, his posture instinctively relaxed, unthreatening.

"We're not gonna hurt you. We're gonna get you out."

Faint whispers crept under the door, the tiny sounds of bitter argument and the brothers shared a look, heads whipping back to the door as the lock clicked. The younger man watched as Dean leaned almost casually against the wall, the tension riding his shoulders hidden behind a warm grin, too bright eyes glittering in the scant light that spilled out into the hall from the cramped room beyond.

_Jesus, _he thought, knew he was staring when he should have been keeping watch but he couldn't look away, the jarring sense of dislocation shuddering through him as a thin, pale face framed by striking red hair peered out at them. _Anna. _He knew it wasn't her, the angel they'd known first as a terrified, broken young woman but he almost expected to feel sourceless wind batter at him, to hear wings beating against the air, against his soul, then she leaned a little further into the hallway, the light falling sharply across her face and the resemblance faded.

He dragged his gaze away, a shiver itching its way down his spine as he scanned the corridor restlessly and listened to his brother draw in a slow breath; let it out in a soft murmur.

"Hey there."

Movement, slight and hesitant just off the edge of his vision. Sam never let his gaze leave the corridor as he turned back a little, the empty feeling of the building fading beneath a growing awareness of _something _there. Peering round the door, those cold blue eyes blinked at his brother, a tiny voice whispering back,

"Hey."

"My name's Dean, this is my brother, Sam. We're gonna get you out of here, okay?"

"There were… out there, they…"

"I know. We'll stop them."

"I got the kids in here, but I couldn't go out again. I had to leave them all behind. Did you see anyone? My folks…"

He listened to his brother pause, knew the older man was seeing the same scared, red-headed girl, begging them to say it was all still okay.

"I'm sorry. We didn't see anyone. They could've holed up somewhere, like you did."

The door ground open a little further, hinges protesting roughly and Sam glanced back, saw her lean into the opening. She was older; he realized, lines etched around eyes that were shades darker than Anna's and her hair was shorter, cut to tumble forward over her shoulders. But she had the same, instant trust in her face as she reached out desperately to the crouching hunter. Dean flinched back, jostling Sam and she gasped, snatched her hand back. The older man shook himself, almost visibly steeling himself to reach out to her.

"Sorry. It's okay. How many of you are there?"

Sam lost her answer beneath the growl that rumbled down the walls.

"Dean."

His brother nodded, pushing up from his crouch and easing the door fully open.

"We gotta go."

The younger man put his back to his brother, facing the corridor squarely as Dean slipped halfway through the door. So when it came down the stairs, all power and hideous grace, too purely, utterly _wrong _against his nerves to ever be anything natural, his gun was already half aimed.

His hands raised, snapping off a shot as he surged backward, barging into his brother and shoving him forcefully into the room. Sam kicked out at the door, slamming it closed on a snout that bristled with way too many teeth, hearing it yelp and snarl as the force of the blow knocked it back, claws skittering on the floor as it scrambled back to its feet. He threw himself at the door, the wood pounding against his back, shaking with the weight of the Hound as it crashed into the door, over and over.

He met his brother's questioning glance as Dean untangled himself from the red-head. Sam nodded, watched as the scared, haunted look faded from his brother's eyes, replaced by the determination of the hunter he'd known for so long and felt his own nerves settle at the sight.

:: ::

Dean's heart climbed into his throat, hammering as he scrambled to his feet, lunged at the door as it shuddered and slapped a palm against the wood beside Sam's ear, leaning all his weight against it. The younger man shifted a little, easing sideways so the elder could jam his shoulder against the door. Dean turned as he did it, looked at the girl and took in the two children huddled in the corner of the small office, the desk overturned before them. he almost laughed at that, the idea that a flimsy chunk of metal and plastic could hold back Hellhounds, but he remembered trying to crawl, trying to drag himself out from under their claws, as if he could ever get away from them.

He didn't even know which memory it was, they'd chased him through the endless wastes as well and it had always ended the same way as it had in New Harmony.

He clenched his jaw tight, his fist tighter, the dull ache in his left shoulder throbbing dully. It wasn't long enough since they'd thrown themselves through a church window, wasn't enough time for the dislocation to heal and he rolled his shoulder a little, trying to ease stiffened and inflamed muscles.

"I'm fine, Sammy."

He heard his brother's teeth snap closed on the question he'd already answered and grinned, murmuring again, "And quit rollin' your eyes at me." Raising his voice he caught the red-heads attention.

"Hey, what's your name, sweetheart?"

She blinked at him, dazed, eyes too wide.

"I… uh… Kate."

"Okay. We're gonna get you all out of here, alright? But I need you to do exactly what I say, no questions."

She nodded slowly.

"Great. We gotta move fast, so you'll have to carry the youngest and keep hold of Tommy's hand. Follow Sam, he'll get you out. Can you do that?"

Dean didn't wait for her to answer, just winked and tried not to remember the same words tripping off his tongue, so long ago. He would've given anything to be that young again, childish in the faith that his father was out there somewhere and that all he had to do was reunite his family to make everything alright again.

"Come on. Let's hustle."

The huddle of arms and legs pulled apart, an illusionists nightmare come true as it resolved into the red head, a brunette, pre-teen, long bangs tangled around his face as he pulled a toddler back against his knees. Dean grinned at it as it stared solemnly back at him, one thumb stuffed in its mouth, fine white hair smudged with dust and dirt. The smile turned hollow as he saw a trace of something darker on those thin strands, something that smeared down onto the twisted neck of the kids' Spiderman t-shirt.

"Ready, Sam? Soon as you get up those stairs, find us a way out of this place. 'Cause those things're fast, and it'll be coming after us."

"Okay. Make sure you're following us, Dean."

The hunter licked dry lips, stomach rough with the surety that it would be his blood that would derail the unstoppable beasts. It was a price he would gladly pay, even now, he realized with a jolt somewhere deep inside as if something settled back onto bedrock. He would spill every drop of his blood if that was what it took, though he could see the concern in his brother's eyes. Sam knew what he was thinking, the way he used to, thought it was pointless martyrdom, thought they could run fast enough to not need a sacrifice.

_No, Sam. We can't. Not even without civilians slowing us down. Nothing's fast enough to out run them._

He didn't have it in him to break the faith in his brother's voice, even though he could hear the doubt shivering beneath it. A slow, cold pain pulsed up his spine, just once and he bit his lip against the urge to shake his head. The chill subsided, settled under the skin of his back as he shifted to check the clip in his Colt.

It clicked back into place with a satisfying _ch-snick _and a faint jolt that steadied his hands. twisting, he looked back over his shoulder at the girls, caught Kate's terrified eyes wide in the shadows glinting as she nodded to him, swallowing audibly.

"Okay then!"

He said it with a bright, ringing cheer that sounded fake even to his ears. Beside him Sam snorted quietly.

Dean pulled away, spun on his heel to face the door and yelled at the thin slab of wood even as the younger man moved to open it.

"Come on then, you mangy sons-of-bitches! I'm right here!" he kept roaring as the gun shattered the dark, slamming back against his hands until he couldn't even hear what he was saying, just saw hell-fire eyes burning in the dark, flaring with a rage that took his breath away until the bullets, sanctified, marked with crosses and dipped in blessed salt water put them out.

"GO!"


	4. Spooky Town

Spooky Town

Driven by the strangle of vein, showing no mercy, I do it again.

Open up your eyes, you keep on crying, baby, I'll bleed you dry.

The skies they blink at me, I see a storm, bubbling up from the sea.

And it's coming closer.

"GO!"

He shouted over his shoulder, fingers sliding the clip free, snapping another into place even as footsteps sounded behind him, his brother's instantly recognisable through the chaos. Then they were lost under the rage and the fear and the thunder in his hands at red eyes, blinking open again, glaring balefully at him as the shots forced the Hound back down the corridor.

A sharp elbow tapped his shoulder as Sam slipped past and Dean edged back, feeling his way with one foot until his toe stubbed against the first step. At the same moment, the exact same moment, a synchronicity so perfectly screwed it was the stuff of movie legend, he pulled the trigger again and heard only a dry, empty _click._

There wasn't even a pause for breath before the Hound bellowed, the sound a physical assault against his skin. He flinched, threw an arm up in front of his face, squeezing his eyes shut against the searing pain he couldn't forget, the sickening intrusion of teeth into flesh and bone.

The pain that never came.

Instead, something slapped his shoulder, hard enough to make the sullen bruises flare but he got the message and dropped so fast the floor knocked the breath from his lungs.

Armageddon crashed over his head, deafening even through the nails-on-chalkboard grating of the hounds' roar against his soul. Dazedly, he wondered if Sam had managed to lay his hands on a cannon somewhere between the motel and this mouldering, crumbling staircase, then he gave coherent thought up and just scrambled back past his brother's legs, turned and rolled to his knees and clawed his way up the stairs.

He thought maybe he was screaming as he went, thought he certainly should have been but wasn't sure he had enough breath left in his lungs to move and scream at the same time. Still, he could feel a vibration in his throat, familiar, achingly so, dredging up _fire on the ceiling _and _lamp-flex winding like snakes _and_ second explosion slamming hot air and burning wood against his back _and_ gritty mud soaking through his jeans._

"SAAAAAAAM!"

The stairs shuddered beneath him, jarred against his hands and _shifted_. With a start, he realised they were tilting, pulling away from the wall, wood splintering as they disintegrated. He drew his legs up, launched himself up the last few steps, twisting even as he landed to throw out a hand and dig his fingers into his brother's collar. He jerked the younger man's torso into his lap as Sam kicked at empty air, their yells lost in the thunder of wood and Hound crashing to the floor below.

Slim hands grabbed at his shoulders, sharp nails digging into the deep bruises and he groaned as she pulled him back, but he held onto the fabric clenched in his fist, wrapped his free arm around his brother's shoulders and dragged them both over the edge, splinters digging into his side as he rolled away, panting harshly.

"Fuck."

Sam laughed once, a rough bark of static as Dean swore, pushed to his knees and stayed there, head hanging down. The younger man mirrored him and Kate leaned against the wall behind them. He could feel her shaking.

"What was that thing?"

His lips thinned as he looked at his brother, still slouched staring at the floor, the desperate weariness running riot through him dulling the surge of raw fear.

"It was a Hellhound."

Sam looked away from him and Dean caught his lip between his teeth, bit back the jaded instinct to reach after his brother, let his gaze search out the rest of the survivors, and rolled tiredly to his feet. Crossing the space to them with a few strides, one hand slipping the gun in his hand into the back of his jeans, he smiled. Behind him, he could hear his brother and the red-head talking softly, Sam's deep, hoarse mutter rough counterpoint to her light, fear-brittle tone.

Dean thought Sam sounded more like him, some days.

He shook it off, crouched in front of the kids, spread his hands a little.

"Hey. I'm Dean."

"'m Tommy. He's Petey. Those… the dogs took his mommy."

The older of the boys blurted it out, as if confessing a terrible secret held too long. Dean tried not to flinch, dug deep for some kind of smile and found nothing.

"Okay, that's okay." Low, soft, trying to swallow the faint ache at his father's voice in his throat. "We'll get everyone out, maybe find his Dad or something. Alright?"

"How?"

He turned a few inches, so he could see his brother and the kids at the same time.

"It's kind of what we do."

"Oh."

The toddler sniffled, drew in a hitching breath and let out a thin cry. Dean twitched, winced and felt the blood drain to his feet as he heard rubble shift in the hole. Sam's head shot up in the periphery of his vision. He whirled, stood in one quick motion, ejected the spent clip from his Colt and yanking a fresh clip from the back of his jeans, ramming it home as the younger man scrambled over the floor to the children, dragging the red-head behind him by one arm.

"Tommy, right?"

The boy just stared at him, eyes too wide, hollow in his pale face. Licking his lips, Dean reached into his pocket, rolled a thumb over the silver flask inside. Pulling it free, he held it up between them, angled it so the thin light caught the relief on the front.  
"You know what this is, Tommy?"  
The youngster shrugged, ticked his head to the side but his gaze followed the flask as Dean lowered it to his hands.  
"It's called a hip flask, but this one's kind've special. See, it's got somethin' inside that's, well, it's kinda like magic. It'll keep you safe if..." he trailed off, remembered every child he'd ever told about thew dark and the way the innocence in their eyes withered away. "Just hold tight to it, okay?"

Dean watched as the boy nodded, dividing his attention between his brother and the hole as Sam pulled the toddler up, passed him to Kate and pulled his Taurus, held it low against his thigh. He looked back to the hole, scanned what little of the rubble he could see. It wasn't enough. He edged forward two careful steps, peered over the sagging edge, shrugging one shoulder in answer to Sam's low warning and darting another quick glance back.

Tommy held the hunter's hip flask, gazing intently, ferociously at the battered silver as Kate settled the Petey's arms around her neck.

"Sam? Ready?"

His brother nodded an answer as he looked back to the hole, saw rubble moving, wooden beams and treads mounding up as something shoved roughly up from beneath. "It's comin'," he snapped, lifted his Colt and kept it trained on the debris that moved as if it was alive, the Hound clawing through it. His warning provoked a flurry of motion behind him, the sound of his brother's boots thundering against the landing, Tommy's surprised yelp and the toddler's rising wail was all the starter's gun he needed.

Dean turned, threw himself after them, hitting a flat-out sprint before he'd taken his fourth stride. They raced down the hallway, Sam dragging Tommy by one hand, the kid's feet barely touching the threadbare carpet. Kate carried the howling Petey against her chest, the toddler's red, tear-blotched face staring back at Dean, staring _past _him to where the rubble groaned and something growled, so deep Dean felt it tremble along his spine.

"_GO!"_

Sam cast one glance back over his shoulder at Dean's shout and the older man saw his eyes widen a fraction of a heartbeat before the landing dipped and shuddered. He stumbled, saw Kate go down and heard Petey scream once, couldn't keep his feet and twisted as he fell. He heard his brother's hoarse yell, saw him turn in the edge of his vision, and their guns roared together. Afterspots danced across his eyes as the muzzleflash split the dark to pieces, not enough to obscure the Hound writhing in the hail of blessed lead, falling back over the edge of the hole.

:: ::

The second the Hound was out of sight, Sam sagged, bent over to brace one hand against his knee as he sucked in air.

_Christ. Jesus Christ, that thing._

He hadn't really seen it at the foot of the stairs, just a shifting mass of shadow and smoke but now his stomach churned, acid biting at his throat. He forced the nausea down, ruthlessly bit back the urge to sink to the floor, cursing at himself in his head.

_Suck it up, Winchester. You can exorcise demons with your mind, you're gonna let the _sight _of some hellspawn puppy bring you down?_

Fleetingly, he wondered when the voice in his head had turned from his brother to Ruby, winced and set the thought aside, buried it deep.

_Not thinking about that. Just... not._

"Sam?"

He startled at his brother's call, finger twitching tight on the trigger, nerves shot.

"I'm fine!"

Sam rolled to his feet, heard Dean gathering Kate up and started running again. He passed his brother, reached down for Tommy's hand where the boy huddled against the wall and swept him up against one shoulder. Long hair burrowed into his neck, wet with tears as the child shivered.

He slowed as he found the end of the corridor, smeared a sweaty hand over the dusty window and felt a smile tremble at his lips.

"Dean."

His brother panted up, Petey pressed against his chest, Kate's hand wrapped around his bicep. He didn't answer, just turned and scanned the long hallway, stretching into the shadows.

"Fire escape."

Sam saw the older man's shoulders relax a fraction, knew Dean would be grinning when he turned.

"Awesome. Maybe our luck's changing."

Sam rolled his eyes, muttering "don't jinx it," as he pulled his knife from his boot and worked the blade into the lock, levering it open and yanking the window up. Tommy swung from his arm to perch on the sill and he kept the boy there with one hand on his shoulder as he leaned out, searching the alleyway and the rooftops around them.

"We clear?"

Dean's voice sounded oddly strained, muffled and Sam snapped his head back, smothering the laugh that broke through the spike of fear at the sight of the toddler wrapped around his brother's head.

One irate eye glared at him past the pudgy arm.

"Sam?"

"Yeah. We're good."

"Then can we get the hell out of here?"

"Sure!" he grinned, brightly, heard Tommy giggle behind him. Kate stared over his brother's shoulder, her face pale and solemn, the fear tightening her lips sobering him instantly. Sam turned back to the window, slipped out past Tommy and hefted the child down to the rattling landing of the fire escape.

"You okay dude?"

Tommy nodded, held up the silver hipflask. Sam smiled.

"Good. Hold on, okay?"

He turned back, helped Kate clamber through the window, straining his ears for any sign of the hounds. His skin crawled, nervous anticipation beading sweat along his brow and he swiped one arm through his bangs, smearing it away.

"Here."

He blinked as Dean handed him the toddler, watched the way his brother put his back to the wall, the gun shifting in his grip.

"I don't hear it."

He meant it as reassurance, but the look Dean turned on him was fraught, hot with angry fear.

"Those rounds weren't enough to stop it. Where is it, Sam?"

"Let's just get back. Hole up in the motel."

"Yeah."

Sam wrapped one hand under his brother's elbow, helping the older man clamber over the high sill without ever taking his eyes off the hallway. He could feel Dean shaking, fine tremors born of riding the edge of the adrenaline rush for too long, felt his own knees weaken as weariness began to war with the hormone in his blood.

They were going to crash, and soon.

"We gotta move, Dean."

"I know. It's just… I don't know. It's wrong. All of this."

Sam paused, feeling the same instinct plucking at his nerves. Dean shrugged, shaking out his hands, muttering irritably.

"You're right. Let's just get back to the motel and figure this out."

He took Tommy into his arms again, hefting the boy against his hip.

"You ready kiddo?"

The child nodded against his neck, craning his head back to peer nervously over the hunter's shoulder.

"Good boy. You watch my back, okay?"

He swung down onto the stairs, boots clattering against the metal, the rail shuddering under his hand as Kate and his brother fell in behind him. the alleyway filled with the sound, echoing around them until it took on an almost physical presence, scraping against his nerves and for a moment, until Dean crashed down the ladder behind him, he couldn't hear the hounds.

By the time they dashed back onto the main street, squeezing between a rusty black minivan and a deep red stationwagon, it was all he could hear past his own, harsh panting. The back of his neck itched, tingling with the sensation of eyes brushing over him, raking over his heart and soul, judging him and finding him wanting. He snarled, gritted his teeth until he couldn't bear it any more and turned a quick 180 as he ran across the middle of the street. There was nothing behind them, nothing but shadows that seemed too deep, too dark somehow, so unutterably still that they couldn't be natural. But there was no Hound, no black-eyed demon stalking towards them in a stolen meat-suit. He whispered under his breath, cursing harshly, still drowning under the weight of the gaze on his back as he ran on, darting past a blue Ford, and clutching Tommy against his shoulder.

It came at them over the car, surging onto the roof, the suspension groaning, one sill scraping against the pavement as the Hound's weight crushed the shocks. Sam pushed Kate ahead of him, giving the girl a hard shove between her shoulder blades that sent her stumbling forward in front of his brother. That was all he had time for.

He reached out, his fingertips catching hold of rough fur and nothing else as it slammed past him, knocking him sideways and into his brother with a sickening thud. Tommy spilled from his arms to land with a shocked cry on the sidewalk as Sam slammed into metal and asphalt He heard Dean grunt as he scrambled to his feet again, swaying as the world tilted, falling back against the car behind him as he shook his head and instantly regretted it.

Blinking hard, Sam reached up and swiped at the blood trickling into his eye, watching two Deans grapple with two hounds. For a moment they resolved into one twisted image of his brother, dragged from the table top, screaming and writhing as blood turned the air heavy and rank.

"Get them out!"

The shout was lost in the echoes in his head, the sound of flesh tearing, of his brother sobbing as the hounds tore him apart.

"_SAM!"_

His hand flattened against the car, cold metal chilling his palm, the burn scar that still showed the pattern of the Ghede's charm itching at the contact and Sam blinked again, lifted his eyes to his brother as Dean rolled on the ground, one hand thrust up under the beasts' jaw, muscles straining to hold it away from his throat as the hunter looked at him, eyes bright with desperation and fear.

The younger man shook himself, pushed away from the car, ice racing under his skin as he saw the panic in his brother's eyes and knew Dean was remembering the same moment.

"Get them out! Back to the motel!"

He hesitated, saw the hounds slavering jaws press a little closer to his brother's throat and as he watched the panic in his eyes shift to cold resolution, he knew what Dean was planning.

_Like the Peg Legged Jack. He'll kill it._

"Dean, don –"

"Dammit, Sammy, GO!" his brother ground out through clenched teeth, arms trembling as the Hound raked at him with its claws, vicious kicks that would have torn straight through skin and flesh if he hadn't held them back. As it was, the younger man saw crimson bloom through Dean's shirts as a few of the blows snaked past his defences. Dean rolled his head over as the Hound pressed closer, face twisting with disgust as steaming drool fell from its jaws, slicking over his skin. He stared at Sam and the tall hunter saw the determination beneath the resolution, the will driving away the fear at what he was planning to do.

Sam reached out and grabbed Tommy into his shoulder again, dragging Kate to her feet, Petey wrapped in her arms, never turning away as he led them down the street. His resolve wavered as he watched his brother grimace, the Hound surging down at him again, pressing closer until Dean shoved an arm into the jaws that snapped a scant few inches from his throat.

The older man's cry of pain, ragged and terrified, almost took Sam to his knees as he finally turned his back on his brother and pushed the girl into a sprint, blinded by the sight of a suburban dining room, spattered with blood and gore. He barely realised he was crying, tears streaming down his cheeks as he sobbed.

They reached the intersection and he thrust Tommy into Kate's arms, pushing her around the corner with the same motion and dived after them as the cold slammed into him. The air was sucked out of his lungs and he felt all the heat leave his blood, pulled _back _as his vision dimmed, the sensation of the ground scraping at his skin as he rolled helplessly. Faintly, as if from a thousand miles away, he heard a soft thumping echoing through his blood, jarring against his pulse as they both slowed, his throat constricting as he recognised the sound of his brother's heartbeat.

He wanted to cry out, wanted to scream, to do anything to break the cold lassitude that stole along his nerves, dragged him under into the dark. But he couldn't feel the world anymore, couldn't touch the concrete he knew had to be under him, couldn't hear the girl calling to him. There was nothing but the chill and that slow, plodding beat that wound through his blood.

Then he heard something.

…_Sam…_

From so far away he could almost believe he imagined it,

…_Sammy?…_

Quiet and hurting and so filled with sorrow he would have wept if he could,

…_no. NO…_

Much as the ice thickening his blood hurt, it was nothing compared to the agony that ripped through him as the cold was torn out of him, dragged away by an effort of will that stunned him. He reached after it, acting on nothing but pure, terrified instinct, found only emptiness where that desolate whisper had been then something cracked against his cheek, stinging fiercely.

Sam snapped back into himself, blinked open his eyes as the hand slapped his cheek again. He flinched away, reached up weakly and caught her wrist, peering through the cloud across his vision at wide, pale blue eyes.

"Sam?"

He pushed to his feet, made it to his knees before he had to stop, clutching at his head to stop it simply shattering to pieces.

"Dammit…"

"What happened to him?"

"Are you okay?"

He could have sworn he felt the questions hit his skin, overlapping each other until he could barely make sense of them.

"Help me up," he grated, reaching out, realising as he did that it was Dean's hand he was expecting to find. He made it the rest of the way to standing on his own, finally shook his head clear enough to see them staring at him, wide eyed in the pale light.

He turned away from them, took a couple of steps back to the intersection and stopped, indecision twisting through him.

"Is he… did they get him?"

The question decided him even as he answered it, instinct shaking his head.

"No."

He would know. He would just _know_ if Dean was gone, the hollow feeling underneath his ribs one he could never quite forget.

"No," he repeated. "He's…" _fine, _he wanted to say, wanted to believe but the town was quiet, their little corner of it at least and he knew if his brother really was _fine _then all hell would be breaking loose. He let it go, split his attention between the girl and the two boys peering 'round her legs, and the streets and the corner of the wall as he neared it.

He didn't have a hope in hell of keeping any of his attention on anything but the shadows huddled against the battered car as he crept around the sharp angle.

"Dean!"

In his head, his brother's voice echoed through their Dad's.

_Check the scene first, kiddo. Running in yelling won't do anyone a lick of good._

Sam didn't care, but scanned the streets as he broke into a run, sliding to his knees at the mass of fur and brother and only stopping when his shoulder thumped against the passenger door of the car. Only one arm and the tips of the older man's mussed hair were visible beneath the Hound, neither of them moving.

"Dean? God, Dean, come on."

He hauled on the hounds' corpse, grunted in surprise when it didn't budge an inch and tried again, remembered the suspension groaning as sweat broke out on his lip and trickled into his eyes. He grunted softly, heaved the weight up and off his brother.

"Jesus."

Dean was sprawled against the car; legs twisted up beneath him as if he'd tried to stand and simply folded to the ground under the impossible weight of the Hound. Sam reached out and turned his brother's face towards him, wincing as he saw the deep gash trailing up into his hairline. The hollows under his eyes were dark against his pale face, streaked with crimson. The younger man swallowed hard as he saw the arm his brother cradled in his lap, jagged bite marks circling the length of his forearm, blood still trickling steadily to soak into his jeans.

He stripped off his shirt, _Dean's shirt, _and shivered as he folded the body of the garment into a pad. His eyes flickered from the blood slicking the older man's arm from shoulder to fingertips, soaking the thin tee his brother wore and turning the dark grey black.

His lips thinned in an odd twist of relief and sympathy as he lifted the arm and Dean moaned, low in his throat, rolling his head away along the side of the car.

"Hey, wake up man."

Dean groaned again, murmured something, breath hitching as Sam pressed the pad of shirt against the long tears in his arm, tying the arms as tightly as he could.

"Dean? Come on, please."

There was nothing he could do about the gouges striping his brother's torso, but he gingerly tugged aside the shredded cotton, relieved to see that they were mostly shallow, messy scrapes.

"S'm?"

"Yeah."

"Crap..."

"You okay?"

Sam leaned forward, reaching out to roll his brother's head towards him again as the older man's eyelashes fluttered, lifted to half-mast, a glassy stare peering out at him.

"No. Up."

Dean palmed the ground at his side with his good hand, reached up and fisted the other in Sam's t-shirt, trembling as he pushed weakly to his knees and swayed.

"Whoa, whoa take it easy."

Even as he said it, he slipped one arm under his brother's shoulders, eased the hunter up, taking his weight with a soft grunt as Dean staggered into him.

"Gotta go."

"I know. Just slow down a little, okay?"

He could feel the muscles under his arms twitching, jumping in reaction to pain and fear and gave in.

"Okay. We're goin'."

Dean smiled wearily at him, then Sam cursed as the hunter's eyes rolled up in his head and fluttered closed as he sagged in Sam's arms.

"Hey hey hey, no, come on Dean. Stay awake, okay?"

The older man groaned, didn't open his eyes but the weight on Sam's shoulders eased.

"Motel."

It was a bare, scant whisper, slurred and thick but the tall hunter smiled weakly, repeated in a whisper, "Yeah. We're going."

"'Kay."

They stumbled down the street, weaving as the older man's feet tangled together, but by the time they reached the intersection Sam found Kate just gathering the children together. Behind them, the horizon was turning to gold, false dawn fading to sunrise, scant comfort in it when he could still hear the hounds. He didn't stop, just slowed a little and shifted his grip around his brother's back, meeting her shocked gaze.

"Is… is he…"

"Later. Come on."

Dean seemed to have other ideas, pulling back, lifting his head to shoot the girl a cocky smirk. Only Sam could feel the effort it took, trembling down his spine as he muttered, "'M fine, sweetheart. Unless you wanna play nurse?"

Sam grinned as Kate rolled her eyes and huffed loudly, echoing his own words more softly, for his brother's ears only.

"Come on, dude. Only a couple blocks."

Dean chuckled wearily, breathlessly.

"'M still drivin'."


	5. Hour's Getting Late

_**A/N: I've just now realised that I may have been switching randomly between UK and US English over the last couple of chapters. I'm trying to make the switch to US (it feels oddly like some kind of betrayal...), so please bear with me! I'll re-load the previous chapters soon.**_

_**Meantime, enjoy one of my favourite chapters!**_

_**~~HoC~~**_

_**Hour's Getting Late **_

_Outside in the cold distance,_

_A wild cat did growl._

_Two riders were approachin',_

_And the wind began to howl._

_~~HoC~~_

It was like drifting from one nightmare to the next.

The howling followed him, winding along the scars on his throat, a light, taunting pressure that never quite faded as he let the world filter back into his senses, slowly, one at a time.

Dry dust, somewhere beneath it the faint, bitter tang of old blood. Grit against his skin, sweat dried sticky in his joints, dull ache of old bruises cut through with the sharp, sickening burn of tooth and claw. Voices, murmuring and whispering, a thin wail quickly hushed and Sam, closer than the rest, mumbling something that sounded like Latin.

Finally, he blinked, cracked one eye a fraction, peered out at an expanse of white pillowcase faded to ivory. The light, dim as it was, detonated in his skull and his breath caught as he let his eyelid slam shut again.

"Dean?"

He winced at the taut query, whispered a curse under his breath and even that sent fire spiking through his brain.

"Inside voice, Sammy."

Instead, a hand settled on his shoulder, squeezed gently before it disappeared. He risked opening an eye again, watched as a Sammy-shaped blur moved quietly to the end of the bed, stooped and rummaged through the bag there. The sound of skin against canvas was deafening, the rattle of pills thunder slamming from one side of his head to the other.

He held his breath, lips tight against it, dimly aware of a hush settling over the room as he listened to his brother coming back.

"Here."

Sam barely breathed it, helped him sit up enough to dry swallow the pills. Blinking sandy, scratchy eyes he eased back into the pillows, burying one ear in them, letting the roar of blood in his ears drown out the noises outside the room and just drifted.

He swore he could feel the pain fading, draining out of him slowly, with every breath until all that was left was a sullen ache, shifting restlessly inside his head like static. He dragged open one eye, peered through sticky lashes at the shadowy room. From the corner of his vision, a slice of bright light escaped the curtains to arc down one wall and onto the floor and he squinted at it, figured he'd lost enough time for the sun to tip past its zenith.

Dean rolled over, pushed up onto his elbows, waited for the world to settle again.

"Hi."

He turned slowly, carefully; saw the red-head perched knees up on a chair by his bed.

"Hey," he rasped.

"How're ya feelin'?"

Flashing his teeth in a quick smile, the hunter pushed himself back until his shoulders met the headboard.

"Awesome."

She stared at him, eyes wide and unreadable.

"Kate, right?"

She nodded, still didn't say anything.

"Kate, where's my brother?"

A soft snore answered for her and they both grinned a little. He rolled his head along the edge of the threadbare velvet, saw Sam stretched out on the next bed. One booted foot dangled over the edge.

Huffing out a rough chuckle, he dragged his own feet out from the blankets, blinking for a moment at the layers as he belatedly realized his brother slept on nothing but the sheets, every spare blanket heaped on top of his own bed. Dean fingered the thick wool, felt the weight of them against his thighs, heavy and constricting and way too familiar.

It wasn't something he'd ever wanted to feel again.

The dull burn of over-strained muscles made itself known, every inch of him aching, a last few shivers snaking up his spine from that cold spot at the base of it.

There weren't that many memories he wished he could forget. In a lifetime of fighting, of monsters under the bed and in the closet, he was sometimes surprised there weren't more and he just didn't think about that other lifetime.

But there were a few, too vivid in his mind, carved deep into him that he wanted to scour away with whiskey and lust, with violence and fury. The slim edge of fire through a half-open door, weight thrust into his arms too soon, too young. Walking through the diner's door, thick blood-stench and _Wrapped Around Your Finger _warbling from the jukebox, _'Devil and the deep blue sea behind me, vanish in the air you'll never find me,' _slapping him in the face, almost sending him reeling back into the flood outside. Weight in his arms, no more and no less than it was twenty-four years earlier, but so cold and empty he literally felt his heart stop and shatter. Claws tearing through him, body and soul as he screamed helplessly, unable to fight it, unable to not try. Hazel eyes, feral in the dark, too bright above him as his arm shook and bone cracked under his fingers.

And cold, sinking into him, bone-deep, a dead man's hate whispering in his ear as it dragged him under. A laugh that sounded like gravestones cracking.

He shuddered, shook his head hard as if he could shake all the memories out through his ears, winced as the motion slewed the room on its axis and woke the heavy white noise to a dull roar bouncing off the inside of his skull. One hand curled into a fist, twisting the blankets into a knot in his palm. He stared at it hazily, willing the pain down until he could feel again.

When he looked up, he met his brother's sleepy gaze.

Sam blinked at him, slowly, almost smiled and Dean would have given anything, paid any price gladly, just to see that look of comfortable innocence stay in his brother's eyes.

Between one breath and the next, it faded. The younger man rolled smoothly to his feet as Dean looked back down at the fist on his thigh and watched his fingers uncurl, one by one.

"Hey."

He forced something like a smile, gave it up before it made it halfway onto his lips and pulled away from the touch that brushed against his shoulder, uncomfortably aware of the girl staring at his back. He knew the scar alongside his spine peeped over the collar of his shirt, a knot of pale, rough tissue that pulled as he rolled his left shoulder and hissed at the pain that trickled down from elbow to wrist.

"Your arm isn't a great chew toy, Dean."

He glanced up, startled, the harsh joke oddly, jarringly familiar from those first few months after the deal, when a year still seemed like forever. It hadn't really been funny when he'd said it then, either.

Sam shrugged at him, a half-smile twisting his face ruefully as Dean held his arm out, fingers flickering over the bandages wrapping it to the elbow until they fell away. He only had hazy flashes of the night before: stumbling back to the motel as dawn broke apart the horizon, a ragged procession of hunters and innocents; Sam dumping him on one chair, pouring whiskey down his throat like water as he unwound the dripping shirt from his arm then the tug and drag of thread through his skin following him down into the dark. Dean winced at the black stitching winding around his elbow, a few needle marks tracing the paths of the thread and he recognized the doughy feeling in his flesh that Lidocaine left behind.

"Still numb?"

It was a low murmur, but as he nodded he couldn't decide if that was in deference to the pounding reverberating in his skull that he was sure his brother had to be able to hear, or if it was because of the quiet whimpers drifting over from the far corner of the room.

From the corner of his eye, he saw Kate unfold herself from the chair, walking quick and soft around the edge of the room, gaze fixed to the window. She gathered the pale-haired toddler up, rocked him gently, cooing under her breath but she never took her eyes off the drawn curtains.

Dean looked a question at his brother.

"They're still out there. It sounds like they're looking for survivors."

"Crap," he breathed, trying not to flinch as Sam probed one swollen row of stitching.

"Yeah. Goofer dust's holding them for now, but I think it stops them catching our scent as much as anything. Soon as they figure out we're here…"

He didn't need to finish.

Hellhounds didn't just run wild, didn't just slaughter a whole town. They didn't look for survivors. Demons did.

_Was one night away from it too much to ask? One night without angels and demons dragging us into their war?_

He huffed out a bitter sigh as Sam worked antibiotic gel into the stitches and re-wrapped his arm.

"Think they're here for us?"

Dean quirked an eyebrow at his brother.

"Right. No such thing as coincidence. But why now?"

"I don't know. Maybe one of Alistair's flunkies made it out, brought in reinforcements. Maybe they're looking for Cas. Hell, maybe they miss me down there, decided to get take-out for the welcome home party at the same time."

He bit off the sour retort and hissed out a breath between his teeth as worn fingers tightened painfully around his forearm, digging into the nerves.

"Sorry."

Sam jerked one shoulder, shrugging the apology off but his fingers kept tugging at the bandages, fiddling with ends that weren't loose and he didn't look up. Dean let his eyes close for a moment, just wanting to shut the world out for a while.

Just wanting to forget.

…_there is no forgetting…_

His own words, playing on an endless, soft loop in his head for months. Sometimes he clung to it, pulled the memories close, razor-sharp as they were, held tight to the pain of them and the humanity it etched into him.

…_there is no making it better…_

"Sam."

"Yeah."

Carefully neutral. Masked. It made something inside him ache, hollow and sad to hear the walls in his brother's voice, to see them in his eyes, though he was better at hiding them than Dean ever was. He waited for a beat, grinned wryly as he spoke again.

"I'm an ass."

The younger man snorted, eyes flickering up to his as he hesitated, nodded slowly, lips curling up at the edges.

"You're not meant to agree," Dean muttered as he pulled his arm gently from Sam's hands and leaned over the side of the bed, rummaging with his good hand through his duffel until he found a shirt, tugged it free and pushed wearily up off the bed. Even his feet ached as he stood and he scowled for a moment, shook it off and shrugged gingerly into the thick plaid as he walked slowly to the window, leaning against the wall as he peered out through the narrow gap in the curtains.

The street was empty, mottled in the early afternoon light, dusty. Motes hung on the air, still and motionless and he could imagine wading through it, sun like syrup on his skin.

He frowned.

There were no trees to cast the shadows he was looking at, perspective skewed and disjointed to disguise the reality. He swallowed hard as he realized it was blood that stained the road and sidewalks, turning away as a shudder crept under his skin and found his brother carefully _not _looking at him.

Stretching, he rolled his shoulders and wandered idly to the table, limping just a little. Dropping into a chair, he tugged at the papers strewn over the top, heard Sam huff in annoyance as he rearranged them, fingers only hesitating once as they slipped over the ancient woodcut and he remembered _running through the trees, branches whipping at his face as he tried to breathe just tried to breathe because breathing meant air in his lungs meant he could keep running meant he could live a little longer until it was there in front of him where it couldn't have been because it was behind him, dammit it was __**behind him**__ and he turned and turned and it was always there in front of him, snarling up from the page when he woke up from the dream or nightmare or freaking premonition._

Dean blinked, flipped the book shut and buried it under print-outs. He scanned through them, skipping over pages describing hell-hounds, black shucks, devil dogs, every kind of demonic Hound ever whispered of in myth and lore.

He knew what was out there, didn't need to confirm it in some ancient book.

"How many?"

His eyes flicked up from the text he was re-reading as Sam dropped into the chair opposite him.

"How many what?"

The younger man didn't answer for a moment and he looked up again, more slowly, saw hazel eyes dart away from his as Sam chewed at a lip.

"All these books. Everything Bobby and I… everything we found. How many of them had ever seen a Hellhound? I couldn't… they were _invisible. _Before. With Evan Hudson."

The clarification felt like the lie it was.

_Oh._

He forced a shrug, felt it pull at the stitches in his arm and drew it in to his side.

"Count yourself lucky. Fugly sonsabitches."

He could tell by the silence all he'd done was swap sorrow and guilt for anger and bitterness and ground his teeth together hard enough that his jaw creaked.

Not now. He just… _couldn't. _Not now, when the hounds were still howling on the other side of town, the whisper of sound scraping over his skin like sandpaper.

"Find anything on how to kill them?"

Somehow, it came out almost normal and he felt strangely proud of the fact.

"No."

Sam just sounded like he had a hairball choking him. One made of razor wire.

"Nothing."

"'Course not. That would be easy."

On the other side of the room, the red-head mumbled something into the child's head, her lips buried in his hair. Dean was half-aware of her, more aware of Sam but he felt her stiffen before he saw the shadow slip over the curtains. He froze, heart thudding once in his chest, hard. Forced himself to pull in a slow breath over his teeth, tasting a rank, musky scent on his tongue, cut through with heavy sulfur and dropped one hand, glacially slow, to the table top and the handle of the shotgun peeping out from beneath the drifts of paper.

From the corner of his eye, Sam shook his head, tiny movement that stilled his hand before he could draw the gun. Didn't stop him curling his fingers around the stock, but he left it buried for now and watched.

None of them moved as the shadow flitted back and forth across the window a few times, waited until it snorted a thick, foul breath under the door and moved on.

Dean looked at his brother; saw the tension coil along Sam's shoulders.

"They do that often?"

Sam rolled his neck until it crackled softly.

"Now and then."

"Any…" he trailed off, shot a glance at the girl in the corner of the room, saw Kate and the child in her arms watching him and changed what he was going to say. "Anything else?"

Sam looked back at him, steady and calm and he wondered if anyone else could see the naked terror in his brother's eyes.

The unasked question; _Any sign of survivors?_

"No. Nothing."

Dean sighed wearily, pulled his hand away from the shotgun and rubbed at one temple, trying to knead the ache away. He dropped his voice to a near whisper, leaned in close.

"Could be on the other side of town maybe. Holed up somewhere."

The younger man looked at him.

"Someone who happened to have goofer dust handy and knew to use it?"

"I know. Still. We should look."

_We have to. __**I **__have to, Sam._

They spoke so quietly that even with their heads close enough for him to want to sneeze as his brother's long hair tickled his nose, they could barely hear each other.

Sam nodded silently but his stare pinned Dean to the spot for a moment, a thousand cautions called up and thrown back at him. He grinned faintly, crookedly and rolled his shoulders, frowning when he wanted to wince as pain burned along his arm for a moment.

Curling his fingers in he tucked his arm against his side, dragged the shotgun from the table, letting papers scatter to the floor. Sam stood slowly, leaned casually in to catch them, eyes flickering from Dean's face to the door to the red-head as she moved back to the corner.

"You up for this?" the younger man murmured, quiet enough that it wouldn't carry.

Dean shrugged one shoulder.

"Not seeing much of a choice here, dude."

"I could go."

He just quirked an eyebrow at that, not needing to recount the dozens of reasons why _that_ was a bad plan. Sam pushed anyway, leaning even closer, glare hot and worried.

"Dean…"

He got it, he did. He knew Sam had watched him get torn apart by Hellhounds. Had found him as good as dead in that goddamned basement in Litchfield, had found him _hanged_ in Arriba and watched the Revenants' curse try and kill him.

And Sam had watched him claw his way out of the nightmares, over and over and said nothing. He knew what it cost his brother to do that but it didn't matter.

"No, Sam. Need you here, keeping an eye on the crèche."

_Need you safe._

Sam huffed, didn't bother to keep it quiet as he turned away, arms folded across his chest, t-shirt tight over his broad shoulders. Dean took a step towards him, an apology reluctant weight on his tongue but his brother sighed, relaxed.

"Yeah. I know."

Sam moved away, easy grace in the gloom and Dean suddenly missed his brother, missed the kid who'd kicked through dead leaves in fall, chattering carelessly. He watched the familiar stranger crouch by the bed, rummage through the bag and turn back to him, holding out a heavy bundle, his wrist sheath piled on top.

He forced his eyes to meet Sam's, disconnected, as though someone else reached out with his hand to take the battered flask and bible, rolled up in thick black cotton marked with sigils to bind demons. It was one of the things that had been in the trunk after he got back from the pit. _Kind of a portable devil's trap, _Sam had explained it as he'd looked a question at the younger man. He'd grinned, answered _awesome _and gone back to rummaging through the trunk, putting things back the way he liked it, trying to ignore the ache under his breastbone at even needing to do so.

"Be careful."

He blinked, saw something glitter in his brother's eyes and smiled softly, slipping the tangle of leather over his hand and fumbling with the straps, buckling it into place. Tried to keep his answer cocky and light and knew he failed.

"You know it, dude."

Sam sighed, turned away and broke a second shotgun, short barrel reflecting the room in warped monochrome, twitching as he loaded it with salt. Snapping it closed again, he looked over to the corner and Dean watched him scan the lines of black dust and white salt, calm veneered ruthlessly over unease, familiar as the face in the mirror.

His heart thudded in his throat, a sharp pulse of fear spiking through his nerves.

"Sam."

The younger man looked at him, twitched one shoulder in query. He didn't even know what he'd been about to say, fear subsiding as quickly as it had come, taking the words with it and he dropped his eyes, looked for something to do with his hands. The Desert Eagle he rarely carried – its stopping power was enough to drop most fuglies in their tracks but it was heavy and it kicked like a mule – went into another pocket, the bulky gun dragging the jacket down on one side until he dropped two handfuls of spare shells into the other side.

"Just…"

_Sammy, be careful._

Sam's mouth curled up at the corner, a flicker of a smile.

"You know it."

Dean nodded jerkily, huffed out a rough laugh, grabbed his jacket from the back of the chair, shrugged it on and dropped the bundle Sam had given him into one pocket. He knelt quickly, skimmed his fingers over the knife in his boot, felt them tremble once, faintly and curled them into fists, shaking them out again a moment later, rotating his hand against the sheath on his wrist as he pushed back to his feet.

His Colt went into the back of his jeans, cold metal warming quickly against his skin, the familiar pattern of the grip oddly comforting, soothing the ache of tiredness and hurt from him.

Sam stood between him and the door as he turned, shotgun held across his chest and Dean stopped, tipped his head back a little to look at his brother in the eye. The quiet voice that had been raging in the back of his head screamed once more; _I must be crazy. Going out there, alone, no back up? They'll catch me again. They'll rip me apart. Again._

He shut it out, drowned it in remembering the first time he'd realized he had to look _up _at his baby brother, the odd burst of indignation, pride, irritation and fear that had swollen tight against his ribs for a moment. The younger man shoved the shotgun at him, waited for his fingers to close around it before he tugged it a little, one last warning and Dean pushed gently on the gun, knocking the stock against Sam's hip before twisting it free.

He could feel them watching him from the corner, ignored them, divided his attention between the window and Sam at the door, waiting for his nod. He gave it and the younger man eased open the door, leaving his hands free on the gun as he slipped through the narrow space and tried not to feel like the last man on earth as he listened to the lock _snick _closed behind him.

The street was as empty now as it had been that morning, the steady grate of howling that had dragged him awake snapping off as soon as the door shut and his dry swallow was loud in the sudden hush.

"This is a bad idea," he mumbled, one thumb absently slipping up to check the safety on the shotgun as he eased along the covered frontage of the motel building.

Unusually for them, they'd stopped yesterday at a place more or less in the middle of town, the normal Winchester caution overridden by weariness. The parking lot sat between the main building and the street, an empty expanse of dusty concrete, the Impala tucked into one corner by their room, a battered red pick-up on the far side and a new-looking Chevy over by the office.

The hunter kept his back to the wall, not quite pressed against it to keep the noise of his jacket brushing the fake-stucco to a minimum. His boots rolled silently over the boards, skin crawling under the weight of the quiet as he edged his way to the first door, dropped one hand to the knob, twisted and pushed the battered wood open an inch.

The smell hit him instantly and he gagged, twisting his face down into his shoulder, squinting as he pulled the door closed again.

"Goddammit."

He took a few moments to breathe in the smell of cotton and canvas and self; some flowery soap because it had been Sam's turn to do the last grocery run, oil and warm metal from the guns and the Impala. Sometimes he thought that smell was ground into him, worn so deep no amount of scrubbing could ever get it out. Sometimes he didn't even mind.

Steadier, he crept along the walkway to the next door, standing open and he skated his fingers over the splintered lock, torn clean out of the wood. His lip curled a little, anger bubbling hot in his throat as he took a step out into the parking lot, scanned the row of doors, saw them all shattered or bloodstained or both.

"God_dammit."_

The hunter broke into a jog, shotgun held up against his chest like a shield between him and the town he already knew was empty. Crouching a little as he swung out of the parking lot, suddenly feeling exposed on the street he slowed to a steady pace, eating up the yards of streets, measuring them by the doors he slipped through, the Rorschach patterns of viscera and gore on the walls inside, slowly turning black as the sun arced across the sky and the light burned crimson and bloody over his hands.

_**A/N: Next week, I may actually manage to post at the weekend...**_


	6. Fallen Down Angels

**_A/N: Thanks to Anne1013 and JazzyIrish, you girls rock my socks! - Anne: No dreams after this one, 'kay? and JazzyIrish: I'll give the boys a break next chapter. Promise! _**_*cross fingers and toes behind my back*_**_  
_**

Fallen Down Angels

_It's all in the way we know that we could have it all  
Some satellites of pain can't always be ignored  
It's all in the face of what we thought we knew before  
War on all sides _

_~~HoC~~_

Sometimes, he measured his life by doors. The ones to be listened at, the ones whose locks had to be picked quietly, softly-softly. The ones that had to be kicked down, and the ones that were never, ever to be opened.

A door had never felt so thick. Sam leaned into it, pressing his head against the flaking paint and he felt the faint vibration as the lock clicked home. He heard one quiet scuff of his brother's shoes on the walkway outside, then there was nothing.

He sighed, closed his eyes, saw the Hellhound come surging over the car and opened them again, wide as he could.

"He's gonna be okay, isn't he?"

The hunter started a little at the question, one hand rolling into a fist against the door, the other dropping halfway to the gun snug against the small of his back before he stopped it.

"Yeah," he uttered roughly, heard it rasp and tried again, half-turning to see the boy from one eye. "Yeah, he's going to be fine."

He almost smiled at the sight of Dean's hip-flask still clutched in Tommy's hand but he ached everywhere, weeks of exhaustion and adrenaline dragging like lead weights on every muscle.

"Why did he go out there?"

"To look for anyone else like us."

It came out before his tired mind could think to censor it and he winced as the boy paled.

"He's gonna find them, isn't he? They're still out there, my mom and Dad, and Petey's?"

Biting his lip, Sam turned the rest of the way and slid down the door, wondering what it had done to a Dean no older than the boy in front of him the day Sam had asked what had happened to their mother. _Where did she go, Dean? Why did she leave us?_

"He's going to try, Tommy. He'll try his best."

_She didn't want to, Sammy. Something took her, something bad. Dad's going to find it, and he's going to punish it for taking her._

"What if he doesn't?"

_What if it takes him too?_

Dean had smiled then, feral and too bright and for the first time in his young life, an eight year old boy had learned there was something to be scared of in his brother.

_It won't take him, Sammy. Nothing can take him, because we're here to help him._

He didn't have a lie to give to the child looking at him, wide-eyed with fright, the terror of being left behind shockingly adult in his gaze.

"I don't know, kiddo."

Tommy stared at him for a moment, chin trembling before he turned and ran back to the corner where Kate rocked the toddler against her chest, watching them. Sam looked at her as she gathered the boy to her, wrapping one arm around his head as he buried his face in her stomach and sobbed quietly.

Once upon a time he'd felt guilty for every bit of innocence they burned. Now he just felt sad and tired. Trying to stop the apocalypse and save his brother didn't leave much room for guilt.

He tipped his head back against the wall, let his eyelids grow heavy, drop until he watched the room through his lashes. In the corner of his vision, the light shifted against the window and he wondered if it was wind or something else that made the shadows dance. Restless, exhausted, his fingers tapped on one knee, the fast irregular beat seeping in under his skin as his back curled into a slouch.

Kate looked up at him, the infant cradled in her arms sleeping, one arm dangling limply. Sam swallowed hard, looked away, remembering the weight of his brother's corpse in his arms, slick with cold, sticky blood as he'd carried Dean through New Harmony, past the shell-shocked residents who just watched them pass, the bitter, rotten-egg smell of departing demons hanging thick in the air. One arm had slipped out of his grasp, rigor already tightening his brother's hand into a clawed fist that thumped against his knee with every other step.

Shoving roughly away from the wall, he surged to his feet, barely hearing Kate's surprised yelp from the corner as he paced to the table, yanked the laptop open and stabbed a trembling finger at the power button. The machine hummed quietly, faint vibrations shivering through the contact, cold light flickering over his hand.

"Sam?"

The hunter tilted his head to the side, didn't look up as the screen cleared, loaded icons. He frowned as the screen stuttered once, flickered and steadied again.

_EMF? Interfering somehow?_

The frown carved itself deeper into his face as he tried to open a connection with the 'net, _Connection Failed _blinking at him.

"Damn."

"Sam, what is it?"

"They've cut us off." He looked up, pushed away from the table and strode to the window, peering out and up at the cables strung across the street. Three blocks down, he saw what he was looking for; a junction box. It was crushed, squashed, half the casing flung in a scorched, crumpled heap to the other side of the street. He turned, looked the other way.

"_Damm_it. They cut the whole town off. Must've done it before they attacked, to stop anyone getting word out."

Sam frowned. It didn't feel right. He didn't remember the demons destroying any junction boxes in River Grove.

_Maybe we just didn't see any?_

He shook his head slowly, shrugged his shoulders, trying to shake off the feeling of unease prickling along his spine.

_None of this feels right._

It felt like the world shifted, dropped into new alignment with the realization

He stilled, looked out at nothing as his mind raced. They'd assumed the Hellhounds and demons had followed them, tracked them down somehow.

"No such thing as coincidence," he whispered. _Maybe there is. What if they aren't here for us? _

Turning, the world tilted for a moment, dregs of sleep and adrenaline battling with his equilibrium before he blinked, hard and slow, squeezing his eyes shut until the dark blossomed with black stars. TA quiet hiccup from across the room startled him and his head snapped up, focused unerringly on the far corner where Kate was gathering Petey into her arms, bouncing him gently, cooing in his ear.

"He needs changing," she muttered to him and he raked a hand through his hair.

"We don't have anything for... that."

Sam grimaced a little as the child's soft cries turned louder, more strident and he licked dry lips as he pushed away from the wall, crossed the room.

"Can't you, you know. Wash him, or something?"

Kate stared at him.

"You don't know a thing about babies, do you?"

He felt his cheeks warm and shrugged helplessly. Kate huffed, bounced the boy higher and shuffled back and forth.

"My cousin had a kid, used to leave him with mom when she went to college. Do you have like a, an old towel or something? One you don't want back?"

"I, yeah. Hang on."

Halfway to his bag, Sam paused, wondered at the sudden shift in the woman behind him. She seemed more confidant, more at ease than she had done since they'd found her in the old office. Dragging a threadbare towel out of his brother's bag, he turned back, held it up.

"This do?"

She nodded, snatched it out of his hand and marched into the bathroom.

"Kate," Sam called and she stopped in her tracks, glanced back over her shoulder as he pushed to his feet and took a few steps closer. "Leave the door open, okay?"

"I was going to wash up when I'm done with him," she protested and Sam shook his head.

"Just an inch, but leave it open."

He didn't leave an inch for argument, just looked down at the table by his side and tried not to remember how it felt to be on the other end of the same tactic.

_I gave Dad hell for this,_ he thought ruefully, wincing as Kate growled under her breath, _"This is some weird dream, Christ, a few hours ago I was trying to decide what color to dye my hair and now I'm changing diapers and hiding out from... fuck, from really freaky fucking devil dogs in two strange guys' motel room? Jesus, Mom'd..."_

The angry whisper of her tirade stopped suddenly and Sam winced at the muffled sob that filled the quiet.

He looked up, walked slowly to the open door and leaned against the frame, watching her as she lifted the child's feet, wiping him clean with shaking hands.

"If it's worth anything, I'm sorry, Kate. I wish you'd never had to find out all this."

She didn't look up at him, focused so intently on tying the old towel into a makeshift diaper he wondered if she knew he was there at all and finally he forced a shrug, rolled away. Stopped short as he found Tommy staring hard at him, eyes rimmed with red, cheeks stained with tears as his hands worked feverishly around the silver flask.

"It's not," Kate murmured behind him. He looked back, saw the silver on her cheek. "I mean, it shouldn't be worth anything. My life, god. It's turned inside out. I never wanted to believe. You know? Ghosts, monsters, the truth is out there, I couldn't care less but now I find out it's all real and it's all out to get me? And it..." she broke off, pressed the back of her hand against her mouth as her shoulders hitched once. "My mom and dad are d-dead, the whole damn _town _is _dead _and it shouldn't _mean _anything that you're fucking _sorry."_

Petey hiccuped again, fists balled tight as he wriggled and Sam could almost watch the calm she pulled around her self, forcing it into a thin veneer as she finished tying the towel off.

"I know," he murmured. "But I still am," and he turned away, walked back to the table, dropping wearily into the chair and casting a brief, longing glance at the bed.

"But it does mean something," Kate sighed behind him, reluctantly and he wondered if it would be easier for her to hate them, if it would help her find the will to fight. He nodded silently, waited for her stare to leave the back of his neck and listened as she carried Petey back to the corner.

Sighing, he gazed down at the papers, shifted into a different pattern by his brother's hand.

"If they're not here for us," he mumbled to himself, trying to find his train of thought. "Then what _are _they here for?"

He dropped into the chair, reaching out absently for the laptop, the back of his neck itching as if ants crawled over his skin. He felt the hairs on his arm lift, stand on end, snatched his hand back but a fat spark leaped from the casing around the screen to his fingers, the _zhhht _it made loud in the quiet.

"Crap!"

He jumped back, the chair toppling over behind him, shaking his fingers out as they tingled and stung harshly. The laptop buzzed loudly, whining until the screen winked out with a pop.

Sam rubbed at his arm, ozone bright on his tongue as he took a careful step back, held out a hand to stop Kate as she leaned towards the table.

"What is that? What's going on, Sam?"

"I don't know. Just… stay back a minute. Okay?"

Biting his lip, the hunter reached out tentatively, stretching as far as he could to slap the laptop closed. A thin trail of smoke drifted up from the edges of the casing and he sniffed at the acrid tang of scorched plastic.

"Damn."

"Is it…"

"It's fried. _Hell."_

He let his gaze trail over the books spread across the table and for the first time in months the sight of them didn't stir something cold and hard inside him. He'd never given them back to Bobby, somehow in the middle of all the chaos that seemed to have infected their lives, it was just one more thing on the list of 'stuff to do' – and it kept on getting shoved to the bottom.

Now, he was glad. Sinking into the chair again, he leaned over, dug a notebook from the bag leaning against the table leg and drew the books closer.

"Can you… do you know what's happening?"

Sam shook his head slowly.

"Sorry. But we'll figure it out. We will."

Tommy crept up behind Kate, peered around her legs at the hunter.

"How?"

Sam looked down at the flask still clutched in one small fist, and wondered how Dean had ever managed to shield him from the truth for so long. Sometimes it seemed like the world came knocking on their door, trouble finding them no matter how hard they ran.

"Like I said. It's what we do."

He sat on the floor, back to the wall, gaze flickering from Tommy to the door to Kate and Petey to the window to his own hands scribbling notes on the pages and back to the beginning to start the cycle again. Disjointed doodles filled the notebook, random thought processes, trying to shake loose the feeling that something was _wrong_. Devil's traps sprawled across the lines, protective circles mixed with incantations, Latin and pig Latin, Aramaic and Enochian chants jumbled together with places and people, things from his past.

Over and over, two words followed a few lines later by a third, always together, twisting through the mess like players in a dance.

_River Grove_

_Croatoan_

His pen slowed as he traced the word again. _It feels the same, _he realized, recognized it with a jolt. The same feeling of emptiness in the streets, the same eerie hush lurking beneath the cries of the hounds.

_They shut the town off so they could wipe it out. Completely. He's not going to find anyone._

Sam looked over at Kate where she sat in the opposite corner, watching the window with a fixed, determined terror. Cuddled into a nest she'd made of cushions and blankets, the children slept, exhausted.

Rolling to his feet, the hunter leaned against the wall as his head spun for a moment, a rush of vertigo making his vision blur.

"Sam?"

He smiled over at Kate.

"I'm fine. Stood up too fast. You guys want to eat?"

She nodded, turned to the pile of cushions and started waking the boys. Sam pushed away from the wall, wavered for a moment before he caught his balance and walked to the counter along one wall.

Rummaging through the cupboard, he tossed Tommy a pack of M&M's from his brother's stash, grinned as the child yawned and ripped the bag open. Pulling out the loaf of stale bread and jar of jelly he'd picked up on their way to the motel the night before, he started making sandwiches, all too aware of Kate watching him as he piled them on a plate.

Slowly, she came to stand beside him, hands knotted into a tangle in front of her.

"You want coffee?"

She nodded, and he titled his head at the cupboard.

"Powder's in there."

By the time she'd poured them both coffee and made juice for the boys, some of the tension had left her face, taut lines relaxing, softening her features. They sat side by side on the edge of Dean's bed, the boys munching sandwiches on Sam's, the shadowy room filled with normalcy.

Sam chuckled quietly.

"What?"

"Somehow, it's always my bed that ends up as a table."

She smiled, sipped from the mug, steam wreathing her head.

"How you holding up?"

He copied her, trying to make the question less important than it was. Kate shrugged, smile twisting bitterly.

"How am I holding up? Christ. I've just found out that half the stuff I've seen in horror movies is real. I've got nothing left but the clothes I was wearing last night, and I've only got those because I was too lazy to put them away. I'm stuck in here with two kids and a guy I don't know from Adam."

Sam stared into his mug.

"That good, huh?"

She laughed humorlessly.

"We'll figure this out, Kate."

"That's what you told Tommy, isn't it?"

"Yeah. I meant it. We will."

"And what happens when you do? Where do we go?"

He couldn't answer her, couldn't tell her everything she knew was over. She sighed as he stood, moved stiffly to the counter and dumped the rest of his coffee into the drain, the brew suddenly acid in his stomach.

Rolling his shoulders, he lifted one hand to massage the knots at the base of his neck, resisted the urge to look at his watch. A shiver crept down his back, trembled along his arms and into his fingers and he froze, listened for a moment.

Heard nothing but silence but suddenly he wanted the weight of a gun in his hand. He turned to the table, snatched his Taurus from beneath the drifts of paper and hefted it once, something taut and twanging along his nerves easing.

Walking over to slouch against the wall, he peeked through the curtain at the empty street, caught a distant glimpse of a shadow ducking around the corner of a building and wondered if it was his brother.

Turning back, he saw Kate cajoling a reluctant Tommy off the bed, plates in hand, ushering him towards the sink. She shot him a look he couldn't read, equal parts fear and anger, looked away again and he slid down the wall a little, let his knees relax into a crouch for a moment before he felt it coming, felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end again.

Sam spun to his feet, the grip of the gun warm against his palm as he brought it up, easing a quick two steps back to stand between Kate and the boys and the rest of the room.

The static crawled along his skin, snapping against his nerves and setting his teeth on edge and he pressed back further, cramming the others into one corner, trying not to hear Petey whimpering.

The toddler settled, stilled a fraction of a heartbeat before the charged air shifted, beat against him, driving dust into his eyes. He blinked quickly, vision blurring, the room strobing in and out of view and between one blink and the next the empty space was filled.

"Cas?"

The angel stood facing the window, shoulder's bowed, chin jutting forward stubbornly and Sam recognized the expression suddenly, realized how much it looked like his brother's.

The angel turned a little, still staring at the curtains as the shadows moved relentlessly across them.

"Sam."

The hunter sighed, let his arms drop, the gun suddenly heavy as lead.

"Thank God you're here."

Silhouetted against the window, Sam couldn't make out Castiel's face, had to settle for watching the way his shoulders tightened under the trench coat.

"What is it?"

The angel didn't answer, just stepped closer to the wall, ducking to peer around the edge of the curtain. Sam's gaze flickered to the door, to the weapons bag on his bed and back to the other man.

"What's going on?"

He took a long stride, reaching out with one hand, the gun in his other lifting a little to point towards the door. Before his fingers could touch the tan canvas, Castiel moved, a quick pace away that seemed wrong, subtly inhuman.

"Cas!"

Unease skittered up his spine, crawled under his skin at the angel's avoidance and he shot another look at the door.

"You should not be here."

His head snapped back to the other man.

"I know. This whole thing's nothing to do with us, is it? It's just coincidence that we're here."

Castiel walked slowly to the table, stirring the papers and books with one hand, tracing the edge of the still-smoking laptop.

"It is coincidence."

"But we can stop it, right? Whatever they're doing, we can stop them."

On the far side of the table the angel paused, stared down at an inverted sigil on the topmost page.

"Cas? Is this another seal? We have to stop it."

Sam moved closer, frowning, fingers shifting around the grip of his pistol. He stopped as Castiel looked up at him, dark eyes snapping with fury.

"It is a seal."

Something like disgust crept in around the anger in the angel's stare as it raked over him, took in Kate and the boys huddled in the corner.

"But you cannot stop it."

Sam turned, some instinct he couldn't name telling him to make himself as small a target as possible. Something about the angel was wrong, different, a razor-edge to his tone, a chill in his gaze that jarred against the softly-spoken, intense man he thought he knew.

"Why not?"

He didn't even see the papers shift on the table before he ducked, threw an arm up in front of his face as they twitched and flew up, twisting through the air to batter at his head.

"What the hell?"

Stumbling back, he sucked in air, pulled the gun up, not even sure what he was aiming at. Behind him, he heard Kate gasp and Tommy cry out, a thin wail that was cut off with a heavy thud. It brought him up short, planting his feet against the wind still pelting him with papers, tucking his chin down as he narrowed his eyes to glare at the angel.

"Sam?"

He blinked, darted a glance at the door still rebounding from the wall and his brother, silhouetted in the frame, gaping at the scene in the room. Twisting, he looked back over his shoulder; saw Tommy pressed into the corner, eyes wide, Kate's hand clamped over his mouth.

Turning back to the angel, standing calmly on the other side of the table, hands folded behind his back Sam swallowed, found himself wondering if it was really Castiel inside the host at all.

"What's going on?"

"Ask him," he answered, faintly aware of Dean shutting the door behind him more quietly than he'd opened it and putting his back to it.

"Cas?"

His brother sounded concerned more than anything else. The angel looked at him.

"I am here to warn you."

"Hellhounds, whole town…disappearing," Dean flicked a gaze at him as he hesitated and in the middle of the edgy fear tickling at his nerves, Sam felt his stomach drop an inch. "Yeah, we already got that memo."

"My brothers will deal with the demons. This seal must be saved. I am not here to warn you of that."

"Then what the hell, Cas?"

Dean stepped forward and Sam eased to the side, keeping space between them, his gun still trained on the angel. The older hunter waved a hand at him to lower it, frowned at him when he shook his head and Sam met his eyes for a moment, some quiet voice in the back of his head noting a raw, painful looking scrape on his brother's palm. Dean watched him, brows quirked into a silent question. Sam shook his head quickly, looking back over his brother's shoulder at the angel. The older man let it go with a sigh, but he moved away from Sam and the hunter wanted to laugh with relief as he saw Dean lift one hand to the pistol tucked into his jeans.

"I am here to warn you against the path you are on."

Dean stopped mid-step, pointedly didn't look at Sam.

"I got it covered," he murmured, not quite a growl and this time Sam did smile, faintly, something relaxing inside him at the threat in his brother's voice.

"You are both walking a dangerous road, Dean. More than either of you know. If you do not stop…"

Castiel trailed off, staring down at the heavier books, still sitting on the table.

"What? If we don't stop _what?"_

"There is no place in God's work for such abominations."

Sam felt as if the angel had just sucker-punched him. He saw Dean reel back a step, shock trembling in his brother's voice as the hunter groped for the back of the chair at his side.

"_What?"_

"You jeopardize everything we fight for, Dean."

"Cas, come on. So we wouldn't give you Anna, but what happened to free –"

"This has _nothing _to do with Anna!"

The shout hit them, voice given corporeal weight by a being with more power than Sam could ever imagine. It slapped across his face, snapped his head back and he felt blood trickle from his nose as he staggered, caught himself against the kitchen counter. Somehow, faintly, he heard his brother grunt, caught a flash of him falling back, one hand still wrapped white-knuckled around the back of the chair, taking it with him to the floor in a tangle of limbs and splintering wood. Glass shattered somewhere and Kate screamed, Petey's wail of protest a faint ringing in his ears.

Catching his balance, the younger man steadied his gun, bracing one hand against the counter top as he shook his head.

"Dean?"

"'M okay."

His brother sounded winded but he could already make out the sound of the older man dragging himself to his knees. He kept his attention and his aim riveted on the angel as Castiel stalked forward, the table sliding out of his path with a low groan.

"If you do not stop, we will be forced to _make _you stop, Dean. We cannot risk losing the war because you will not understand the consequences of your actions."

The angel's voice was cold, utterly inhuman as he stopped in front of Dean. Sam saw a thin trickle of blood wind down the back of his brother's neck as Dean knelt on the floor surrounded by the remains of the table, light glittering from the shattered glass around him.

"What actions, Cas? Start talking some sense, dammit."

"You must choose. There is no going back from this…"

Sam blinked, lost the rest of the angel's words beneath a voice that rang in his head like a bell.

"_Are ya sure, Samuel? Once ya tell me yes there ain't no goin' back. No' for eider of ya, no matter what come. No matter what it do to ya."_

_The Ghede._

"Dean…"

Through the shadows he saw his brother look at him; turn back to the angel looming over him, fury taut in both men. The sound of their argument was buried again, under a laugh like gravestones tumbling together.

"_Okay den. Jus' remember, Samuel, in times ta come, dis was your choice. Yours alone."_

_It did something to you._

"Get out."

He wondered who was speaking, the rough, grating snarl loud in the gloom until the angel and his brother turned to stare at him.

"Sam?"

Castiel's glare turned to ice, sharp as a razor scraping against his skin.

"I said," Sam cocked the gun, sneered back at the angel, tried not to let his hands shake. "Get. Out."

"You should be careful, Sam, not to make threats you cannot fulfill."

He forced his feet to step forward until the barrel of the gun hovered a scant inch from the angel's nose and felt Dean fall in behind him, a silent, furious presence at his back.

"I'm not."

Castiel looked past him, over his shoulder at his brother, cold eyes softening the faintest bit.

"Do not let him swallow you, Dean. Fight him with everything you can. He is stronger than you realize, and more cunning. He has waited a long time for you, but if you fall to his greed, none of this," the angel's gaze flickered around the room, a silent gesture to indicate _everything._ "Will matter."

Sam blinked at the empty space in front of him, the rushing of wings already fading into the dark.


	7. Free Fall

_Whispers-  
Captured lies-  
Come now, make your move.  
Do the clothes make the man?  
Does the soul understand?  
I do- _

_~~HoC~~  
_

"Well that was weird."

Dean watched Sam from the corner of his eye as the gun in his hands twitched across the empty space where the angel had just been.

Sam didn't answer.

"Sam? You okay?"

Flicking a glance at him, the younger man took a hesitant step forward, as if he expected to bump into Castiel. Shrugging, Dean decided the silence was Sam-speak for _I'm fine _and turned to see Kate and the children tucked into the corner.

"How you guys doin'?"

She looked back at him, mouth twisted into a weary grimace in the dark. He caught the glint of battered silver between Tommy's fingers and sniffed at the air.

"Jelly sandwiches? You made jelly sandwiches and didn't save me any?"

Sam huffed, strange mixture of laughter and annoyance as he slipped his gun back into his waistband.

"No. We didn't save you any. Make your own."

"Hey! Walking wounded here!"

"Walking trashcan is more like it."

A timid giggle came from the shadows in the corner of the room and Dean smiled. It felt good to be able to make the kid laugh, to be able to fake the banter with Sam. It wasn't much, but it was enough, for now.

"Fine!"

"Fine."

"Freakin' starve to death 'round here."

He kept up a steady mumble as he awkwardly slathered grape jelly on dry bread, trying to hide the way his stinging hands hovered near his Colt, resting on the counter at his side. Forcing down a huge bite, he grinned at Tommy as the boy crept out of the corner and came to stand before him, looking back once to Kate, cradling Petey in her arms as the infant whimpered tiredly.

"Hey dude," the hunter mumbled around a mouthful of bread and jelly. "How's it going?"

"Okay. I guess. Did you…"

Small fingers spun the flask around, over and over, working against the smudged metal. Dean sighed, swallowed hard, smile gone as if it had never been born.

"No. Sorry kiddo. But they might just be hiding really well, or maybe they got out and went to get help."

He spared a look at his brother, wondered if Sam at that age had been able to see through his lies.

"He said you'd figure it out."

"He did, huh?"

Tommy nodded, face pale and solemn.

"Well, he was right. Here."

Not hungry anymore, he handed the boy his plate, walked quietly to where Sam crouched beside the bed, rummaging through the weapons bag. Metal clattered together as his hands trembled and his voice was a rough mumble when he spoke.

"Was he right?"

Dean blinked.

"What?"

"Castiel. What he said."

The older man frowned, lifted a hand to the back of his head, fighting off a shiver that crept down his spine.

_There is no place in God's work for such abominations._

He opened his mouth, closed it again, dropped his hand and gazed blankly at the smear of blood on his fingers, the raw abrasion on the heel of his palm. His stomach flipped once, a slow, oily roll at the edge of hurt in his brother's voice. Sam suddenly looked very young, scared, like he did months, _years_ before when they stood beside a lake and Dean finally gave up the secret that had been eating him alive. _Am I supposed to go dark side?_

He looked betrayed, and there was nothing Dean could say that would make it better.

Rolling his fingers into a fist, the hunter chewed at his lip. Sam sighed, hands going still for a moment as he stared down at them, finally looked up again.

"Lemme see that."

"I'm fine, Sam."

The younger man just reached up, grabbed his shoulder and pulled, twisting him and bringing him to a rough crouch. Dean smirked as he caught the eye-roll, the band locked around his chest easing a little. Then he winced, flinched away as Sam prodded the small gash in his scalp.

"Hold still."

"Quit poking at me then."

"Wussy."

Rough fingers probed through his hair, tiny sparks of pain flickering away from their touch as Sam tutted softly.

"There's some glass in there, but it's not too bad."

Suddenly tired, Dean shifted awkwardly, pushed up against his brother's hand to perch on the edge of the mattress. Sam leaned away, stretched over to the bags dumped between the beds, dragged the first aid kit up with him.

"Gonna end up wearin' most of this," he mumbled, no heat in it and Dean grinned wearily, letting his shoulders droop, propping his elbows on his knees and wincing a little as it pressed rough denim into the scrapes on his knees. Squinting, he saw the new holes in his pants, fringed with blood, a few dark specks of grit clinging to the ragged threads. He sighed, closed his eyes as Sam pushed his hair away from the gash, murmured a soft, idle question and he wondered who his brother was trying to distract.

"What did you land on, anyway?"

The hunter jumped as cold metal slid into his skin, twitched and gritted his teeth as his brother worked.

"Think it might've been the coffee pot."

"Great. We've gotta fight off demons and Hellhounds without caffeine now?"

He chuckled once, a ragged huff of black humor.

The hand spread across the back of his head tightened for a moment. He rolled his eyes in the dark, could feel the worry pouring from his brother. Paired with old guilt, it was a thick weight, a solid presence between them.

"Don't, Sam. Okay? Whatever he was talking about is not your fault."

"He said… the ghede. He said it was my choice. He said there was no going back, whatever it did to you. To us."

Dean's jaw tightened until he thought his teeth might shatter.

"Sam, I know. I remember."

The younger man froze behind him and he could feel the surprised glare heating the back of his neck.

"I never told you, I'm sorry. I guess… I wasn't sure it was real. Then back at Thief Lake, you told me you thought he'd done something."

'_I'm scared, Dean, 'cause I think whatever it was he did is taking you away again'_

"And I knew it was real but… I don't know. Everything was just _jacked_ and I just couldn't, Sam."

"You never do. I thought you were…"

He waited for his brother to finish, remembered the dark, the ice dragging him under and somewhere a million miles away a voice that sounded like burning in the night and then a touch that screamed in him.

Dean opened his eyes, watched his hands in his lap, listened to Kate settling Tommy down in the cushions next to Petey as the infant slept, the older boy bleary-eyed and quiet as he fell asleep. Slowly, Sam dug the glass out of his head, reached down and turned his hands over, fingers gentle and quick as they probed the raw skin on his palms. He twitched irritably away when Sam tugged at the bloody tears in his jeans, scowling as his brother calmly and implacably dug grit from the scrapes on his knees. Neither of them said another word until the younger man sat back.

"Go take a shower. I'll put some cream on that once you're done but it doesn't need stitches."

"Sam –"

"Go."

He turned, met his brother's eyes over his shoulder and wanted to run screaming at the anger and icy compassion brimming there.

"Sam, we'll figure this out. We will."

Sam looked back at him and the hunter felt the iron band lock down around his chest again.

_He never believed the lies. Not once._

The thought hit him like a blow, like an angel's voice.

"Yeah. I know."

Swallowing hard, he held the younger man's gaze for a moment, then looked down and rolled off the bed to his feet. His boots crunched shattered glass as he walked to the bathroom, pausing once at the table, tapping two fingers on the scorched cover of the laptop, feeling the sullen anger beat against his back, laced with fear now.

When the door clicked shut between them, he tried not to feel relieved.

He put his back to it, flattened his hand across the thin wood and gazed at the ceiling. He could feel bruises on his spine tightening, stiffening, newer contusions from falling under Castiel's voice overlapping older ones from collapsing against the car under the weight of the Hellhound, and older still, from angels and demons pounding on him and jumping through freakin' church windows.

Dean slid to his haunches with a soft groan, elbows propped on his knees again, face buried in his hands, just wanting to shut the world out for a while.

He shuddered as a howl broke the evening, distant and ragged.

Wearily, he shucked his clothes, left them in a pile on the floor and stepped into the shower, turning the water as hot as he could stand it, gritting his teeth as it stung fiercely in the raw, bloody skin on his palms and knees, burning along the stitches that tracked around his forearm. The dressings on his chest and abdomen crinkled, water beading on the waxed gauze and sliding away, frictionless. Bracing both hands against the wall, muscles bunching and twitching down his spine as the spray hit his skin. He closed his eyes, ducked his head under the water, let it pelt down on his aching back and sighed, rolling his neck, shrugging then wincing and pulling one hand away from the already slick tiles to rub at his left shoulder.

Empty rooms flickered across the dark behind his eyes, spattered with black stains, buzzing shrilly with flies that swarmed him every time he opened a door. He shivered, scrubbed at his arms and chest, skin crawling with the remembered sensation of the insects alighting on him as he searched, block after block, as thoroughly as he could stand.

There was nothing to find.

He opened his eyes, stared blankly at the water swirling around his feet, gray suds foaming around the plughole.

No bodies, no survivors, just blood scrawled across the walls and floors, over-turned furniture and even the remains of drinks in the bar on the far side of town. He swallowed, wished for the bottle he'd drained as he searched the building, swallow after long, scalding swallow that did nothing to dull the too-sharp edges of what he'd seen or to hide the smell that clung to him.

By the time he'd finally given in, he felt like someone had stuffed him into a meat-suit two sizes too small, skin tight and joints stiff with weariness as he made his way back through the town, keeping to the shadows and the back streets out of instinct more than caution.

He pulled one hand away from the wall, stared down at the blood dried to black under his nails; the dirt ground into his fingertips and wondered how many locks he'd picked that night. Turning his hand he curled it into a fist, hissing between his teeth as the raw skin on his palm burned. He held it under the shower, opened his fingers to let the water pool in his cupped palm, the red, angry wound spinning tendrils of crimson through the tiny puddle. Tilting it up, he watched the water spill out of his grip, spiraling down his wrist to his elbow, a pale mirror of the dark stitching on his other arm.

The fading edges of the fear that had gripped him when he heard Petey wailing from three blocks away skittered along his nerves and the arm bearing his weight against the wall shook. He'd run blind, numb, not seeing the loose surface of the road until he sprinted around the corner into the motel and his footing simply vanished, sending him flying. He'd caught himself and all it cost him was all his breath and half the skin from his palms but he barely even noticed, lost in the panic of the infant's sudden silence.

He ducked his head under the spray, tried to let the pounding water drown out the surreal sight of his brother holding a gun on an impassive Castiel. Truth be told, he hadn't been able to believe what he was seeing until his heart skipped a beat as he registered something… _off _in the angel's cool, blue gaze and he'd stepped forward, unthinking, wanting himself between his brother and the threat, reeling with the old, old parallel, almost expecting to see Castiel's eyes glow yellow. But he wasn't even sure which way the danger was coming from anymore, not until the angel shouted and knocked him clean off his feet.

He grimaced, kneaded at his left shoulder again, still aching fiercely from the jolt of landing in a heap of chair and shattered glass. Thin, watery blood left trails from his skinned palm across the blade of his shoulder, washed away, ignored as he remembered the fear, pure and unbridled that made him just want to stay down. Instead, he'd dragged himself to his knees, then his feet, locking trembling knees against the rage that beat at the air around the angel, edged with a faint compassion that both infuriated and terrified the hunter.

Leaning forward, he folded his right arm across the tiled wall and rested his brow against it. The ache still pounded against the backs of his eyes, somehow ice cold, the steady weight of the water on the back of his neck easing it slowly, draining the tension out of his neck. He sighed, let his head slide over his arm until it hung low between his shoulders, water streaming over the back of his neck, across his face. The hunter opened his eyes to slits, unfocussed, watched silver fall from his jaw and temples, splashing over the tiles and staining them pink. He shook his left hand out, felt the dull pins-and-needles sensation in his fingers and sighed, tucking his arm against his side.

_There is no place in God's work…_

It whispered under the sound of the water and he grimaced angrily. Froze as he recognized the expression from his brother's face.

_I'm a whole new level of freak._

"Dammit," he growled, spitting water, tipping his face up into the spray. One-handed, he fumbled with the soap, eyes stinging as clean suds found their way past his lashes. He scrubbed his hand through his hair, feeling the grit and dust that had clung to his scalp wash away. Leaning out of the spray he sniffed, gagged as he tasted the lingering smell of the blood he'd picked through still rising from his skin.

"Crap."

He whispered it to the floor, pressed the back of his hand against his mouth as his gorge rose again. He could only wish that he didn't recognize the smell, that he didn't know that no amount of washing would cleanse it. That he didn't know that he'd never stop trying to wash it away.

He swallowed another curse, ducked his head under the spray again. Squashing the soap in his hand, he scoured his skin until it was red and the water ran cold. Wrenching at the taps, he slowed the shower to a dribble, shivered once as he climbed out and snagged a towel, scrubbing himself dry, sniffing gingerly at his arm and sighing. It twisted into a yawn, jaw cracking loudly. Licking his lips, swallowing, he wondered what had crawled into his mouth and died without him noticing. Absently, he reached for his toothbrush, ducking away from the haggard stranger in the mirror as he brushed away the foul taste.

Leaning back against the wobbly towel rail as he brushed, he stared at the corner where the walls met the floor, the tiles cracked, grime worn into the narrow creases until they made a black web, scrawled over the grayed surface. If he squinted, it almost made sense, like there was a pattern there, if he could only see it.

He sighed again around a mouthful of toothpaste.

_Story of our lives._

Leaning over the sink he spat, rinsed his mouth and looked up at his reflection.

"What you gonna do, huh?" he murmured. "This whole damn mess you're in. Gotta figure it out."

He tried to ignore the rasp in his voice, tried not to see the way the scars around his throat, almost faded away to nothing, still shone glaringly to his eyes. He wondered, sometimes, if Sam still saw them. Lifting one hand, he traced them slowly, hesitantly, shivering as a chill uncurled along his spine.

In the mirror, something danced in his eyes.

He snatched his hand away from his neck, heart pounding at his ribs, adrenaline slamming through him, whirled as he heard a whisper, a laugh that sounded like cracking, shattering stone behind him.

Glaring at the empty bathroom, he snarled.

"Come on!"

The shower dribbled a few, stray drops that fell to splash noisily on the tray.

Chest heaving, air racing in and out of his lungs, he sagged back into the sink, scrubbing a trembling hand over his mouth.

"Fuck," he mumbled into his fingers. "Freakin' hallucinating now. Perfect."

"Dean?"

He bit down the yelp at the call from the other side of the door.

"What?"

The pause was fractionally too long.

"You fallen in or something?"

He heard Tommy giggle sleepily, heard Kate snort and his brother's worry in the jibe.

"Nah. Just cleanin' up after you, princess. You gotta stop leaving your tissues lying around, man. Downright unsanitary."

In the other room, Kate gasped and this time it was Sam's wry laugh that drifted through the door. Dragging up a smirk, Dean pushed away from the sink, pulled on shorts and pants, carried his boots and shirt with him as he walked to the door and through it.

He grinned at Sam, sprawled on the bed, leafing through one of Bobby's purloined books and the younger man rolled his eyes without looking away from the page. Shrugging, Dean dropped his boots with twin thuds, stuffed one arm through a sleeve and tugged his shirt over his head. Turning to the corner, he smiled at Kate who glared at him, the corners of her mouth twitching in a reluctant smile.

"You guys want coffee?"

Behind him, Sam huffed.

"You landed on the pot, remember?"

"So? Kettle still works, don't it? Ever had trail coffee, Tommy?"

Sam made gagging noises and Tommy peered around Kate's knee, eyes wide, darting between the brothers. Dean crossed the room on silent feet, stepping carefully around the patch of carpet that glittered with shards. Leaning hip-shot against the counter, he filled the kettle and flicked it on, spooning powder into a jar.

"What's trail coffee?"

The hunter shrugged.

"It's what cowboys drink. You want to be a cowboy Tommy?"

In the corner of his eye, he watched the boy shake his head.

"'Stronaught."

"Spaceman, huh? That's pretty cool. Why don't you c'mon up here, Major Tom."

He reached down, picked the boy up and swung him up to perch on the counter.

"My name's Tommy," the child corrected him solemnly. Sam snorted.

"Yeah, laugh it up, chuckles," Dean muttered as the kettle boiled and clicked off in a cloud of steam. He poured the boiling water into the jar, stirred it until it turned dark, acutely aware of Tommy's stare on his hands. He gnawed on his lip, fiddling restlessly with the spoon.

"Did the dogs get mommy and daddy?"

He froze. Something twisted in his throat, a memory he thought he'd forgotten.

'_What happened to Mommy, Dean?'_

'_There was a fire. It took her away.'_

'_Is it gonna take Dad away too?'_

Seven years old, he hadn't known how to lie. He looked up, met his brother's gaze, over-bright in the dark room, wide and shadowed and knew Sam was hearing the same answer in the silence now as the toddler had then. He closed his eyes and twisted away so Tommy couldn't see the way the muscles along his jaw jumped.

"I don't know, kiddo. Maybe."

"Dean."

Sam sounded choked, voice thick and ragged.

"Somethin' you should see."

The older man nodded jerkily, poured the dark brew into two mugs and carried them to the beds. Handing one to his brother, Dean dropped onto his own bed, feet planted in the carpet, resting his elbows on his knees. Sam slouched against the headboard, the book on his lap apparently forgotten as he took a sip of the coffee and grimaced, shaking his head as Dean smirked wearily. The younger man set the mug on the small table between the beds and Dean dropped down to perch on the edge of his mattress, elbows digging into his thighs as he stared into the coffee, watching his own black-eyed reflection, feeling his brother's gaze rake over him. He knew Sam was worried, fear for him rolling almost visibly from the younger man but he couldn't look away, drowning in the dark, dark eyes that stared back at him.

_This is what you're gonna become, _his dream self had snarled and he'd refused to let himself believe it. But he'd turned into something worse, gone willingly in the end and in his head, he could hear laughter through the screams, recognized it faintly and shivered as the hollow at the base of his spine shifted, swelled and rolled against his skin.

:: ::

Sam hesitated, suddenly indecisive. He watched the hunter for a while, one hand straying to finger the pages of the book as his gaze traced the bruises layered across Dean's face, the scars peeping over the collar of his shirt and looping faintly around his throat. His brother didn't look up, just stared, lost somewhere in the dark liquid, trembling in the cup wrapped in his hands.

_How much more of this? _

The question whispered through his mind, echoed with _How I feel? This… inside me… I wish I couldn't feel a thing. I killed him. I sat out here one night, and I almost called you. _

_How much more can either of us take?_

He tore his gaze away, down to the book resting against his thigh and lifted it carefully, cradling it in his hands. For a moment he hated it, hated the angels and the demons, with a cold fury that shocked him, left him stunned in the too-thick silence of the empty town. Licking dry lips, he flicked a glance over at the far corner where Kate sat against the wall, watching the door, the children sleeping at her side and nothing, not even the hounds broke the heavy quiet.

"Sam? What is it?"

He jumped a little, twitched back to face his brother, looking back at him, bruised and pale, hands still trembling in the corner of his eye. He remembered the way Dean had flinched when they woke to hear the howling that could never be mistaken for anything natural, remembered the way his brother had stared at nothing as he whispered that months old echo: _Hellhound._

_Remember what Dad taught you. Sammy, remember what I taught you._

_We fight._

"Yeah," he murmured, answered the old memory and the edge of worry in his brother's voice. He sat up, turned the book in his hands to face the hunter. Dean took it, skimmed the page.

"What am I – "

The younger man watched him slam to a halt, saw the color drain from his brother's face, saw his eyes tighten, a muscle in his jaw ticking.

"Yeah," he whispered, dragged his gaze away, looked down at his hands.

"A seal? A freakin' seal?"

He shrugged. Dean snorted.

"Great place to rest up, Sam."

Sam frowned, shot his brother a quick glare. Dean smirked, quirked an eyebrow in apology.

"You still think it's coincidence? That we're here on the night they come to break it?"

The older man sighed, scrubbed a hand over his head at Sam's question.

"I dunno. No such thing as coincidence, right? Maybe Cas… maybe he did something to us. To make us stop here. Not like he'd ever just freakin' _tell _us there's a seal here."

"Legend's pretty vague. Something that was buried here, maybe? That they have to find to break the seal?"

Dean looked back down at the book and Sam watched him read, forced down another gulp of the bitter mess in his cup. He clenched his teeth against a yawn, knew if he gave into the urge Dean would insist he sleep and no matter how much he longed for it, the shadows bruising his brother's eyes, the lines etched around his lips and between his brows were all he needed to see to know that Dean needed sleep more.

_Time to stop running._

He almost nodded, caught himself in time, blinked and tried to look alert as Dean grunted softly.

"Huh."

"What?"

The older man glanced up.

"Devil's Shores."

Sam frowned, tried to follow his brother's thought.

"Not something buried. Something in the lake."

"Yahtzee," Dean murmured, yawned so hugely his jaw cracked.

"Get some sleep, man," Sam ordered gently, not moving from his perch on the bed. His brother stiffened, glared at him and yawned again. Sam smirked, held out one hand. "Sleep, Dean." Knew his brother heard what he wanted to say; _Stop running. _

The unspoken command hung there between them in the silence until Dean pulled a face and handed the book back with a sigh. "See what you can find. You're better at this shit than me."

Sam grinned, the smile fading as the older man started to twist, aiming for the pillows and froze with a grimace, one hand darting to his left shoulder, hovering just above the joint.

"Dean?"

"'M fine. Just a little stiff."

"Getting old, more like," he forced out, couldn't mistake the bitter twist in his brother's smile for anything other than tired anger. He locked his hands together around the book as Dean shuffled awkwardly back onto the bed, one leg dangling over the side, boot planted firmly on the floor. By the time he'd flipped over two pages, Dean was asleep, the faint, ragged edge to his breathing that had been there since Arriba skittering along Sam's nerves as he worked, kept one eye on the window and one ear on his brother.

At the edge of the town, he heard the hounds begin to bay again.


	8. No Trace When I Leave

_No Trace When I Leave _

_I like the dark_

_it is my friend_

_There at beginnin's_

_be there at the end_

A hand on his shoulder woke him from formless nightmares, where shadows chased him, laughing, with hands that felt like frozen stone while the dark howled and raged.

Fingers dug into the joint, tugged at him and he reacted, still stuck somewhere between dream and waking, lashed out, jabbed an elbow back into ribs as he spun up out of the chair and swung, back-fisted the half-glimpsed figure ducking away from him with a startled grunt.

"Dammit, Sam!"

"Dean?"

Blinking, Sam swayed, caught himself against the table where he'd finally fallen asleep as his brother straightened carefully, right hand pressed against his chest.

"Yeah," his brother growled, glaring at him. "Jesus, man."

"Sorry," he murmured, shivering a little, lifting a hand and trying to massage some feeling back into his numb jaw. "Time 's'it?" He leaned one hip against the table, flicked a glance down at the books scattered over it, flipped a few pages over. Hours of searching, pouring through the spidery scrawl as his brother slept so deeply, so still Sam had to resist the urge to check his pulse every hour.

"Don't know."

Something in the older man's terse reply made him pause, shake the last dregs of sleep from his head. He looked at his brother again, saw the way Dean stood with his left arm curled in against his side, shoulder dropped, turned away from the window and door that his eyes flickered back and forth between, over and over.

"Dean?"

The older man almost jumped, flinched back a little from Sam's reaching hand.

"Dean," he repeated, heart a solid, sharp-edged lump in his throat. "What's going on?"

"I don't know, Sam."

It was clipped, angry, each word bitten off, but it was barely even a whisper and he reached out again, took a long step forward, grabbing hold of his brother's arm as Dean backed away from him.

The muscles under his palm twitched and coiled, minute tremors racing through the contact and Sam felt adrenaline spike his heart rate as he recognized his brother's fear in the utter silence around them. The hounds, even the faint whisper of wind that had seemed ever-present in the isolated town were stilled.

It felt like…

waiting.

Anticipation.

"They're coming," he breathed, saw Dean flinch again and then visibly set his shoulders.

"Yeah," he rasped. "I think so."

"How long?"

Dean shot a look at him, sidelong and Sam chewed at his lip as he read the rawness, the uncertainty in it. In all the months, through all the monsters and the shapeshifters, through the basements and dead children and the revenants and the hell that the world had been turning into ever since New Harmony, maybe even ever since Lawrence, two and a half decades ago, in all that time he'd never once seen his brother so lost. Broken, sure. Battered and worn down, hurting and falling apart, but never so utterly adrift.

"Not long enough," the older man finally whispered.

"Sam? Dean?"

Both hunters spun, hands snapping up in almost identical readiness. Kate shrank back against the wall in the corner she'd colonized, one hand coming up to cover her mouth, eyes wide above it.

Sam relaxed, dropped his guard instantly, taking a quick step forward to mask the way Dean held out a moment longer, a beat of tension singing behind him before he half-heard an almost inaudible sigh.

"Sorry. Sorry, Kate. It's okay," he soothed, hands out now, palms open. She nodded shakily, stayed pressed against the wall.

"What's going on?"

"We gotta move," Dean rasped, edging past him, hands and face pale blurs in the gloom, streaked with bruises that blended with the shadows. For a moment, his eyes looked hollow, cheeks drawn and Sam heard an echo of a cold-stone laugh, recognized it from the dream that still lingered behind his eyes.

"Move? Where? _Why? _I thought we were safe! You said we were _safe _here!"

"We were," Dean growled at her and Sam wondered if she saw the way his shoulders tightened, the way his left hand fisted, trembled as it pressed into his side. He felt his own fingers curl, nails digging into his palms, skin prickling across the back of his neck in a sensation he recognized instantly.

"Dean," he murmured, warning, lifting one hand to reach for his brother's shoulder, fingers closing on empty air as the older man took a step toward Kate.

"We're not any more and you gotta trust me, trust _us _if you want a chance of getting the… getting out of here."

Sam winced at the slip, knew by the way Dean shook it off, by the anger coiling through his retort that his brother felt it too.

Eyes on them, watching them.

_They found us._

He slid a glance at the thin line of black dust along the door, found it tattered and broken by the wind and cursed under his breath.

"_Dean._"

The older man looked back at him, followed his gaze.

"Crap. Kate, get them ready," he ordered over his shoulder, whirling back to the younger man, stumbling a little. Sam reached out again, caught his brother's elbow, held on for a moment as he tried to adjust to the sudden rush of _hurry _pounding through his pulse. Dean leaned into him, head down, shoulders up, twisted awkwardly to keep his injured left protected and Sam felt each breath as it skipped over his brother's lungs.

"Hey, easy, Dean, take it easy," he muttered, stepping closer, ducking his head a little.

"They're comin', Sam."

"I know. We're gone already."

Dean shook his head, quick and sharp, flashed him a glare that was more scared than angry.

"We can't, man. We can't out run them. It won't just…" he cut himself off, swallowed, coughed lightly and his left hand came up to rub at his throat. "It won't just be hounds," he finally croaked out, cocking his head back to check the door.

"We don't have to run for long, Dean. Just long enough," Sam said, voice low, casting his own glance at the door, even though he knew damn well that it would just be so many splinters if they were _really _out of time.

"What? Sam, they won't _stop._"

He tugged at his brother's arm, dragged Dean over to the table and the books he'd finally fallen asleep on.

"I found it," he said, simply, already crouching over the weapons bag sitting on the floor beside the table as Dean dropped into the chair, started leafing through the texts. Sam looked up, hands sliding over guns and knives on automatic, watched him frown and rub at his brow with his right hand, his left tucked into his lap, fist loose for now. He kept talking as he pulled his Taurus from the bag, checked the clip and the chamber, thumbed the safety and tucked the gun into his waistband.

"There's been a settlement of some sort here for centuries. I don't know how far back it dates, but the legend behind it says that there was a witch of some sort who bargained with the devil."

Dean shot him a look, heavy with too much resonance and he swallowed, delved into the bag again, repeated the process with his brother's Colt.

"The tribe drove her out, then when they started getting sick, they went after her and drowned her in the river. She came back, that was the…" he couldn't say _deal, _couldn't force the word out when his brother sat there, head down over the books again, trying to hide the way he shivered. "That was the bargain she made. She couldn't die. The tribe abandoned the river and she couldn't follow, like she was bound to it, I think. When people settled here, she started killing again. Supposedly, if she kills enough people she'll be granted a body again, set free. I think that's the seal. There's a passage in Bobby's text of Revelations, "When the bound are freed and the spirit is made flesh in the river."

Dean looked down at him, eyes hidden in the shadows.

"This ain't a river, Sam."

He shook his head, shoved back to his feet, dragged the duffel with him and slung it over one shoulder as he handed his brother the Colt, wished it was _the _Colt. Dean took it, split his attention between Sam and the door, sparing a quick glance to where Kate bundled a sleepy Tommy into one of Dean's shirts, rolling the sleeves halfway up just to get his hands free. The boy still clutched the hip-flask Dean had given him, what seemed like forever ago.

"They dammed it, a couple of centuries ago, I don't think they even knew by then, what this place meant."

"So what changed?"

"Lilith. All she has to do is wipe out the tribe that killed the witch. It was never about how many people died, just that it was all of them."

"So if the demons kill the whole damn town, she rises? And the seal breaks?"

"Yeah."

Both men turned their attention to the woman standing in the corner, one child half-asleep on her hip, the other leaning against her side.

"Sam, _they're all that's left."_

He knew it already, had seen it in the way the older man dodged her questions, the children's anxious gazes but his heart still pounded at his ribs.

"So we keep them safe. Keep them out of the way long enough to break the spell somehow. I need to get to the library, maybe I can find something in the local history. Some kind of ritual from the tribe's lore. If we can put the witch's spirit to rest before she manages to fulfill the bargain, it should cancel out the seal."

"Put her to rest?"

"Well, it's a little hard to salt and burn a lake, dude."

Dean huffed out a laugh, glanced at the door and Sam watched his shoulders tighten further. The dust line was thinner than before, even as he watched, a few more grains skittered away.

"How do we set a how-the-hell-ever many centuries old witch to rest?"

The younger man swallowed hard, nervously.

"I'm working on it?"

His brother twisted back, stared at him for a long moment and Sam saw him open his mouth, felt the air shudder against him before he heard the roar, like thunder that went on and on. He dropped, lunged for the boys, knew his brother dragged Kate down with them and the hunters huddled over their charges. A fist twisted into the back of his jacket as he ducked his head under his arms, tugged lightly, twice and he tilted his head sideways, met Dean's wide gaze.

"Work faster."

They waited until the floor stopped shaking, until the sound of the explosion died into echoes before they stood slowly.

"What was that?"

"Somethin' on the edge of town," Dean answered Kate in a low monotone. "Gas station, fast food joint maybe." He stepped up to the window, tugged the curtain back and peered out. "They're gonna destroy the whole damn burg."

Sam tried to shake the ringing out of his head, rubbed at an ear and shivered as he realized it wasn't ringing at all. It was howling.

"We need to go," he bit out, grabbed the scorched laptop from the table and looked at it, lips twisting with disgust as he tossed it onto the nearest bed and shoveled a handful of papers into the bag in its place.

"We get out of all this, I'll get you a new one," Dean murmured hoarsely at his side, one bruised hand reaching across Sam for the Colt. "Geek."

The younger man grinned weakly, slung the duffel over his shoulder and took the shotgun his brother handed him, fingers sticky with sweat and dust as he checked the shells in the chamber, blinked back a memory he hadn't thought of in years.

"_Always check a gun, Sammy. I don't care who gave it to you, you always, always check it. Just in case. It might not be your life depending on it, it could be Dad's or some random strangers or anyone."_

"_Or yours?"_

"Sam? You good?"

The image behind his eyes faded, replaced by Dean's worried, pale face. Sam rolled his shoulders, settling the strap comfortably. "Yeah."

"Think we're about out of time," the older man rasped, so low, so close Kate and the kids couldn't hear him. Sam froze for an instant, didn't even breathe as he listened, let his eyes slip out of focus.

And heard footsteps outside, lazy and unhurried, heeled shoes against concrete loud in the hush.

:: ::

He could almost feel them outside, as if his nerves were flayed, spread out across the ground like a spider's web, every single demon and Hellhound a sickly weight shifting nauseatingly. Dean sniffed, swiped the back of one hand across his nose and racked a shell into the chamber of his Colt, flicked his thumb across the safety, checking it by touch. He looked up at his brother, Sam's eyes distant, his lips curling in a faint, sad smile and Dean blinked at him, wondered how his brother could still look so young sometimes, after everything they'd been through.

"Sam? You good?" he asked, suddenly hating the innocence he could see dying, along with whatever memory Sam had been reliving.

"Yeah."

The younger man shrugged, shifted the bag on his back as Dean tried to ignore the claustrophobia edging along his nerves, finally gave in to it and licked suddenly dry lips.

"Think we're about out of time."

Sam stopped dead, tilted his head to the side, _listening _and Dean watched the lines bracketing his mouth and eyes deepen.

"Back door?" he asked and Dean bit his lip, glanced back over his shoulder to scowl at the bathroom, the tiny window on the far side of the grungy room.

"Swear to god, one day we're gonna stay somewhere that's up to freakin' code. The kids might get out that way, but no-one else is."

Sam swallowed, shifted his grip on the shotgun to scrub his palms against his jeans, one at a time. The older man crouched, tugged Tommy closer.

"You got that flask, kiddo?"

"Yeah." The boy's voice was thin, shaky, his fingers trembling as he held the flask up.

"Okay. You know the way to the library?" Dean waited for the child to nod before he went on, angling his head back to include Kate and Petey, clutched to her side. "We're going straight out through the front door. When I say run, you _run, _and you don't stop unless Sam or me tells you to. No matter what, unless one of us tells you to stop, you _keep running. _Tommy, if someone comes up to you, even if it's someone you know, you splash them with some of that water, got it? Trust me. It'll stop them if they're..." he trailed off, couldn't figure out how to tell the boy about demons and meat suits and Hell.

"If they're bad," Tommy stated. Dean grimaced.

"Yeah. If they're bad. You ready? Kate?"

"We can't stay? You're sure it's not safe to just, just stay here?"

"Kate, what's comin'... We can't hold out against it. Not in here."

Sam twitched beside him and Dean levered himself to his feet, curled his arm gingerly, felt the stitches tighten and pull, his brother's gaze pinned to his back.

"You okay?"

"Yeah. 'M fine."

"You said..."

Dean waited, flicked a look back over his shoulder when Sam didn't continue.

"What? I said what?"

"You said, 'what's coming.'"

"Yeah? So?"

"You said it like you know what's coming. _Who."_

He froze, replayed the memory in his head and something uncurled in the pit of his stomach, trailed cold fingers up his spine. Recognition. _They're coming, _Sam had said, still blinking sleep out of his eyes, and Dean had seen... something. A flash, thin sliver of a face maybe, nothing he could put a name to but...

Yeah. He knew. It itched under his skin, dragged the walls in around him, felt like shackles on his wrists, like leg irons and pitted hooks buried bone-deep.

"We really have to do this now, Sam?" he heard himself say. "Or can it wait until we're, you know, somewhere where we actually have a chance in Hell of holding he, it, _whatever's_ coming, off."

A howl rose outside, drowned out his brother's answer and Kate shrank against him, a tiny hand finding his and squeezing tight. He tugged Tommy close into his leg, pulled his Colt from his waistband and thumbed the safety, raw skin on his palms stinging. Gritted out, "It's a street over, maybe two," and glared at Sam until the younger man nodded and brought the shotgun up to his shoulder. "Remember. Run, and do not stop unless Sam or I tell you to."

Kate nodded against his back, Tommy against his hip and he leaned forward, against the shackles and irons and hooks he knew weren't there but still rooted his feet to the sticky carpet, ground in glass glittering like stars when he looked down to will his legs to move. Ice rippled up his spine, stole his breath or he held it, couldn't decide which and in any case, didn't want to know if he would see it plume white and cold when he let it go. A shadow spread around his own, snuffed out the stars and he shivered before it stepped away, dragged his gaze up as Sam eased past him, reached for the door with one hand, the other holding the shotgun steady.

The street outside was dark, again, just as empty as it was, god, just eighteen hours ago.

Sam slipped through first, stock against his shoulder, head dipped down to sight along the barrel, like it was a sniper rifle. Dean ticked his head at the door, waited for Kate to scuttle through before he tugged Tommy in front of him, kept one hand laced in the boy's shirt, vaguely wondering if everyone was going to borrow his wardrobe as they stepped quick and quiet out into the air that tasted of slick copper and hot iron. Blood, baked for a day in the Texas sun and he suddenly wished fiercely that he could have spared the child trying to match his steps this, slid his gaze to Sam, remembered his brother looking past him across the roof of the car. _If it means anything, sometimes I wish you could too._

"Dean?"

"Yeah."

Blinked away the past, years and miles under the bridge since then, too many. He fell in at the back of their tiny, pathetic column of survivors, waited for his brother to look back at him before he nodded. _I got your six._

Sam smiled, taut and sharp, led the way down the street. Listening to Kate murmur at the boy tucked into her arms, Petey sniffling, whimpering, feeling Tommy hesitate with every other step they took down toward the crossroads where the trashed junction box still crackled and buzzed. Something, maybe the same punch of force that brought it down, had gathered up a delivery truck and slid it clean off the street, across the sidewalk and into a shop window. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end as they drew near it.

_We're never gettin' out of this._

It was so alien in his head that he almost didn't recognize the thought as his own, crushing weariness settling deep.

"No way," he breathed, couldn't decide if he was denying the thought or agreeing with it, dredging up a small, weak grin from somewhere when Tommy slowed again and peered up at him uncertainly.

_We're too slow, too vulnerable. And there's so damn many of them out there._

It could have meant the town, it could have meant the whole damn war but something slithered across his nerves then, scraped them raw and it was his turn to hesitate, mid-step, suddenly alive and aware of everything, too bright, too loud. He dropped his hand down from Tommy's – _his _shirt, gave the boy a small push on the back of the shoulder, spoke low and conversational, like he was telling the child to go play in the park.

"Run. The library. Now."

Half-expected tears and fright, pleasantly surprised when Tommy just nodded and took off, rabbit-quick. Kate gaped after him for a heartbeat, just long enough for Dean to watch his brother's hand snatch at Tommy's arm as the kid shot past but Sam pulled back, let them go as Kate stumbled after, Petey whimpering into her neck.

The brothers closed ranks, shoulder to shoulder and he could feel Sam trying to watch everywhere at once.

"What is it?"

Dean shook his head, frustrated, scared and burying it deep.

"I don't know. Something's - " _here, following us _but he never got the chance to finish, breath punched out of him by the edge of the whammy that caught his brother full on, sent Sam flying back into the crossroads and Dean heard him hit, hard, started to turn.

"Now aren't you a sight for sore eyes."

He froze, rooted to the cracked pavement, voice like mildewed silk, like rancid honey sliding against his skin. Didn't recognize it, not really, but the way she said it, tone and inflection that carried across into borrowed vocal cords. "Dean Winchester. Never thought I'd see you again."

Footsteps, slow, unhurried, lazy marking off of time and space, that he'd heard from the motel, clicking soft and low behind him. Echoing from the walls, and he could track her if he tried, along the pavement, skirting the twisted junction box, shallow scrape as she stepped down into the street. Glass crunching under her feet, pressure against his skin the closer she got. He shuddered, couldn't turn around to look for her, couldn't even see the door hanging off its hinges in front of him, just watched the Technicolor, slow-motion live action replay inside his head; blood and iron and fire and the smog of ghosts that choked the scorching air.

Couldn't see anything else until a quiet moan snapped him back to the world, Sam stirring on the ground, _there, over there by the truck, he's over there and she's..._

...she pressed up against him, waist to his hip, her shoulder tucking in under his arm. His stomach flipped, rolled greasily as she trailed a hand down his cheek, cupped the back of his neck, drew him close.

"I missed you, sugar."

He tensed, tried to pull back but she leaned into the motion, rushed him back until his shoulders slammed into the van half buried in the shop front and curled her fingertips into his neck, pulled his head down until his lips brushed hers, fingers like iron on his spine as she held him there, whispered against his mouth, "Things just haven't been the same since you left."

"Screw you."

He felt her smile, squeezed his eyes shut at the raw desire in her eyes as they flickered, gray to black. Her knee nudged at his until she could slide her leg between his, push her thigh up against his crotch, rocking her hips into his side as she pressed into him, hard enough to make his breath hitch and stutter in his throat.

"Oh, if you insist, sweetheart."

Dean twisted, worked an arm up between them and pushed, dragged in air as she let him shove her away. She laughed softly, paced a slow half circle with him at its center, her eyes raking over him as he clung to the cool glass and metal at his back, told himself the ground was solid under his boots, not the void, endless and hungry and devouring, that the blood he could smell wasn't his, wasn't on his hands.

"You really don't know what you stepped in here, do you?"

"The usual," he ground out, flattening one hand against the windshield. "Seals. Demonic skanks. My boots ain't ever gonna be the same again, you know how hard it is to get Hellhound poop out of leather?"

He jumped when she shifted, from _there _to right up in his face again, one hand wrapping around his arm, the other sliding under his shirt, short nails scratching lightly down his chest to slide under the waistband of his jeans.

"Funny guy," she whispered, breath ghosting across the base of his throat. "You always were a funny, funny guy."

There was nowhere to go, the van too solid behind him as she crushed herself against him, fingers digging hard into his biceps, warm and urgent against his groin and her smell and taste filled his lungs until he gagged on it, choked on the smoke that burned acrid tears from his eyes, the dust that scoured raw skin until there was nothing left but bones and chains and ice under his hand, tickling his palm, stinging when he shifted and found his skin frozen to the glass. He blinked, couldn't figure out which was real, the endless void and the chains and the faces looming over him, under him, tearing him apart; or the shattered, ruined street and dark, dark eyes, hungry with the same need to consume him.

"N-n-no," he stuttered, yanked his head away from her, stared down at the frost forming around his hand where it pressed hard against the windshield and now he knew to look for it, he felt the cold hollow at the base of his spine, stretching icy fingers up his back, trailing her touch as she pulled him back to her. "Don't -"

She stiffened against him, arms suddenly rigid around him, too tight, squeezing his ribs until he couldn't breathe, threw his head back to gasp at the sky and heard her scream, felt her choke against him, retching on something dragged up out of her and the cold seared him from the inside out, burned as much as the knives and the flails had. He thought he cried out, couldn't hear anything but the crash as he slid to his knees, the ice thawing sullenly inside.

He stared at the body sprawled across his lap, bruises staining her face, coldly pretty now that it wasn't sneering, taunting him. Now that he couldn't see the lust in her eyes. Flinching away, he slid out from under her, eased her to the ground, staggered to his feet. He wobbled as he turned away from the handprint on the windshield, frost tracing flowers around the shape of his fingers, fading slowly.

His brother knelt, white faced and shaking on the far side of the street, clinging to the wall with one hand, the other still stretched out in front of him. Dean stumbled, somehow kept his feet all the way across the street, finally let himself slump against the dusty, scraped bricks.

"Sam?"

The younger man twitched, shook his head once.

"C'mon, Sammy. We gotta book."

"Was it her?"

Dean blinked, tried to scrub the fog out of his head. "What?"

"Was it her you could... feel? Sense. Whatever. At the motel." The younger man scowled, tilted sideways into the wall.

"Yeah. Think it was."

"She was... down there. With you. In... in Hell."

He shrugged, dragged an arm across his mouth, jaw tight. Didn't look down to meet his brother's glare.

"Was she one of... one of them?"

"I don't know, Sam, I don't. Maybe. She didn't exactly... none of them look like... that." He waved a useless hand at the corpse, didn't look at it. "Now come on, before somethin' else finds us."

"Yeah, 'kay."

He reached down, grabbed his brother and hauled him to his feet, noticed the blood matting Sam's hair down.

"Dammit. Sam?"

The younger man mumbled something, took a step forward and his legs buckled. Dean scrambled to catch him, breath caught in his throat as stitches pulled too tight in his skin before he could get his brother propped against the wall. He ducked down, peered into Sam's glassy stare and sighed, slung one long arm across his shoulders and staggered under the weight as they limped into the street again, turned towards the center of the dead town, howling and too many dead eyes following them.

He stopped at the crossroads, peered both ways, blinking hard at the gray that kept creeping in around the edge of his vision. Head drooping on his shoulder, Sam murmured something vaguely inquisitive, and Dean chewed at his lip.

"I, uh... Which way?"

His brother dragged his head up, stared at him and he shrugged with the shoulder that wasn't holding most of the younger man's weight.

"What?"

"Y're lost?"

"Just a little turned around!"

Sam huffed, waved at one street.

"Two blocks," he enunciated carefully. "Then turn left."

Dean squinted at him.

"You sure? 'Cause right now I'm not sure you could find your - "

"Two. Blocks. Left."

Glassy, dazed as it was, the glare Sam turned on him could have melted lead and he smirked, settled the younger man's weight on his shoulder again. "Okay, okay. Two blocks, left. Got it."

He twisted his head back once, as they shuffled down the street, stared back at the spitting junction box and the crushed truck, and the indistinct body in the shadows. And the handprint, blurred in the slowly melting frost on the windshield.

The ice at the base of his spine _flexed, _rolled up his back, stretched long fingers around his ribs and he shuddered, tore his gaze away. Tightened his grip on his brother in one hand and the shotgun in the other and hustled onto the empty sidewalk.


	9. This Is How It Feels

i**_A/N: Sorry for the delay in posting, RL's been... well, there isn't a high enough rating for what I want to say, so how's about I just get on with the story, huh?_**

_**:: :: ::**_

_But don't say the pain will fade tomorrow,_

_The last thing that I'll feel will be today._

_You, you, you, don't you know?_

_You took apart my soul._

_You, you, you, don't you know?_

_You put me on my knees and cut my throat._

**_:: :: ::_**

His footsteps echoed from the walls as he walked, pace steady and even, when his hands were locked around the grip of his shotgun so tightly his knuckles burned. Pausing, Dean crouched under a window, pried one hand loose and skimmed it across the lines chalked onto the marble floor, felt the faint tingling of power that hazed the dusty air above the ward.

He pivoted in his crouch, scanned the long, open foyer, the bright curves of the Devil's Traps chalked in front of every door and window fragile reassurance when he could hear the hounds baying outside.

"Someone call the pound," he murmured, rising with a weary grunt, his knees popping. "Man, I'm getting' too old for this." He peered cautiously over the window ledge, the thick glass cool against his brow as he leaned into it, watched shadows pacing in the street, their motion smooth and lithe and impossible. His shoulders hunched and he shivered despite himself, shifted his grip on the shotgun, reminding himself it was there.

"Come on, Dean. Suck it up."

The soft echo of his words was lost when the beasts outside lifted their muzzles to the paling sky and howled, the sound jarring along his nerves and he jerked back away from the window, swore quietly.

"Freakin' poodles."

It was even less convincing out loud than it had been in his head and he huffed, turned on his heel and strode deeper into the rows of bookcases. Rounding a corner he stepped over another ward, scratched into the floor this time, a faint grin tugging at his lips as he remembered his brother's face when Sam realised what he was doing. It faded at the memory of his brother's face when he yanked the stitches in his arm loose, daubed the blood that welled too quickly up along the scratches in the marble. He rubbed idly at the new bandage, wrapped too tight from wrist to elbow, shook his hand out, frowning over the faint tingling in his fingers.

Stopping at another window, Dean peered around the frame and watched the Hounds pacing in the street. Smoke rose against the stars, turning the air heavy and gritty across the whole town. The hunter snorted, was about to head back into the depths of the library when a figure stepped easily out of side street, walked to the middle of the main avenue and stretched lazily. Dean froze, felt his blood turn to ice when another figure walked out of the shadows, and another, more and more until they filled the streets.

"Oh hell," he breathed, dimly recognizing the motel clerk that he'd checked in with behind black eyes and a cruel sneer. As if the demon heard him, it turned the man's head to stare at the window and Dean swallowed thickly at the grisly sight of the gaping hole where the host's throat had been. He backed away, fingers locked tight around the shotgun until all he could see through the glass was the plume of smoke, and then he turned, hurried back into the rows of shelves.

A distant roar followed him and he stumbled a little as the floor shook, wondered if the cost of the seal was the town itself or if the demons were just destroying everything until there was no possibility of survivors.

He skidded around a corner, flailing as he fought for balance, saw Tommy jump in the corner of his eye and spun to face the boy, tucked into a corner between two tall bookcases, hands frozen in the act of pouring a flask full of water into a bright yellow balloon.

"Hey," he panted, tried to mask the unease slip-sliding along his nerves, the claustrophobic sensation of being trapped that simmered under his skin. _Now I know why an animal will chew it's own leg off to get out of a snare, _he thought grimly, plastered a tiny smile on his face for the child. "How's it goin', MacGuyver?"

Tommy frowned at him, brow wrinkling in confusion.

"I said the, the prayer, like you said I had to?"

"Good. That's good, kiddo. You're doin' fine." He watched for a moment as the boy filled the balloon in his hand, noticing with a flicker of genuine amusement that it had a large smiley face printed on one side. "You're just fine," he murmured again, reached out to ruffle the boy's hair in passing as he headed for the end of the narrow corridor formed by the bookshelves.

"Sam?"

His low call still echoed as he rounded the corner, met his brother's quirked brow.

"Anything?"

"Well, we're surrounded by Lassie Goes Down Under on one side and demon powered Romero rejects on the other. Other than that?" Dean shook his head and the younger man huffed, pinched at the bridge of his nose for a moment, leaning on a table strewn with maps and books and scraps of paper covered with his spidery notes. He almost grinned at the sight, so familiar, almost found himself listening for his father's irritation with the scatter shot method Sam had always used for research.

"_There's method to it," _he'd defended himself, _"And it works, doesn't it?"_

They'd never been able to dispute that, and by the time Sam was thirteen the chaotic jumble was a regular feature of every motel room and apartment they called home for a while.

"You?" he asked, reluctantly. He knew Sam's method worked, he just wasn't sure they had time.

"Maybe," his brother answered, flipping through papers, shifting to prop one hip on the edge of the table with a wince. "Here, I dug this out. It might help us get out of here at least."

Dean stepped forward, reached out to take the book Sam handed him, squinted down at the symbols printed neatly on the page. He frowned, mumbled translations painstakingly as he scanned the text and felt something shift inside him when he realized halfway down the page what it was.

"This is her spell? Ruby's damn spell to destroy demons? With a _virgin's heart? _What the hell, Sam?"

He glared at his brother, saw Sam's lips press so tight that they almost disappeared, his jaw working.

"No. It's different," he gritted out and Dean made himself take a step back, forced his hand to loosen around the shotgun. "It won't destroy them, just knock them out of their hosts, maybe, kick them back downstairs. And it doesn't need a sacrifice."

"Oh," Dean murmured, dropping the hand still clutching the book too tight to his side. "Sorry," he offered lamely, and Sam snorted, shrugging it off with a rough jerk of his head.

"Skip it. Dean, if I can make this work, we won't need to worry about the lake or the witch. We can blast all the demons here away, let the angels figure out a way to make the seal safe."

The younger man leaned closer, face earnest and eyes shining, _too bright, _he thought, _he looks... __**eager, **_but he shook it off and eased forward a pace, held the book out again, and he couldn't miss the way his brother looked at it before taking it back, tossing it onto the table and scrubbing his hand against his jeans.

"_If _you can make it work?" he echoed, caught the flicker of uncertainty that pulled at his brother's face and cursed under his breath.

"It, it's kinda, it should work. But I've never heard of anyone using it successfully."

Sam at least looked slightly abashed, shrugging a little and Dean sighed.

_We're so screwed. _"Sounds peachy." He paused as his brother flipped through the pages of his notebook, covered with spidery scrawl that smeared together as his eyes burned, dry and scratchy. "Sam?"

"What?"

He hesitated, worried his lip between his teeth for a moment. Remembered the cold resolution in his brother's eyes, the outright terror lurking beneath, building exponentially with every day that crept past them, that slipped through their fingers like sand and wondered what he would have been willing to do.

_Some lines you don't cross, _he thought, tried to ignore the way it sounded hollow in his head.

"Why..." he had to stop, clear his throat, coughing raspily against the familiar burn deep inside, counterpoint to the ice at the base of his spine. "Why didn't you bring this out in Colorado?"

Sam just looked at him for a moment, face carefully blank.

"I didn't have it then. I found it after... later. When I was looking for..." he trailed off and Dean swallowed again, nodded once. He stepped closer again, leaned against the table opposite his brother, propping the shotgun against the leg as he leafed through the books, dragged a thumb across an ancient map of the town, the river winding through the middle of the small settlement.

Silence stretched between them, too many echoes ringing at the edge of hearing, too many questions they couldn't answer, couldn't even figure out how to ask. Too many things they'd done, and he shivered a little, longed for the whiskey stashed in the trunk of the Impala, for the haze it put over all the sharpness of the world he'd crawled up into, so twisted on itself he sometimes wondered if he was really out at all. He shuddered, felt a touch skim down his jaw, a body pressed hard up against him, sulfur on his tongue as he stared into gray eyes that swam with black and ice burned his hand, his back -

"Dean."

He startled, covered it with a twitch of his shoulders, tilting his head to see his brother in the corner of his eye.

"You... you said she might've been one of the demons who..."

Dean blinked, tried to remember if Sam had ever had the power to read his mind before.

"Yeah," he rasped. "Maybe. I don't know, Sam, it's hard to tell."

"Did she... what did she say?"

_You'll scream for me by the time I'm done, Dean, _the whisper curled through his mind and he shuddered. _Sammy isn't coming for you, you know that, right? Nobody here but us chickens, Dean. You and me, we're gonna set this place on fire, _and finally he'd screamed her name until his throat bled, screamed as she tore at him and burned and clawed and shredded, screamed and screamed until there was nothing left inside him but she still hadn't stopped.

"Nothin'," he ground out, spun away, snatching at the shotgun, cradling it too close to his chest, he knew his brother would see it, would notice the tremors in his hands but he couldn't bring himself to care.

"Dean -"

"She didn't say a damn thing, Sam."

A warm hand caught at his arm and he twisted away hard, yanked it free, horrified at the rush of ice that lashed up his spine. Staggering back, he heard Sam gasp, followed his brother's gaze down to the shotgun, to the frost forming on the barrel around his fingers.

"Fuck," he swore roughly, dropped the gun and snatched his hands away, balled them into fists as it clattered loudly on the marble floor.

"Dean, what the hell?"

"I don't know. I don't _know, _Sam!"

The cold spread along his arms, so fierce it burned and he sucked in air, felt his knees go weak and stumbled blindly for the nearest bookcase, clinging on to the shelves. "Just... _find _it, Sam. We gotta get out of here," he whispered, forced his head up to meet his brother's stunned gaze as Sam nodded jerkily. "I gotta get out." Quieter this time, to no-one but himself but deep in the back of his mind something laughed and he swore again, pried his hands away from the shelves and dragged himself up, hesitating for a second as he reached out for the shotgun.

The barrel was cool under his fingers but not cold and he grimaced, stood unsteadily. The charm thumped softly against his chest with the motion, too hot, a pinprick of fire through his shirt and he swallowed hard, closed his fist around it, wanting nothing more than to rip it off and stamp it to powder.

He sighed instead, a slow, controlled breath that plumed white as he let the charm drop, sliding down the cord to rest next to his amulet as he walked unsteadily back to the wide staircase that curved up from the middle of the lobby. Halfway between one step and the next, he stopped dead, could almost hear the light bulb going off above his head as he peered down at the small disc of aged, worn-smooth wood against his chest.

"Huh."

He wobbled, balanced on one foot, reaching out absently for the balustrade and hauling himself wearily up to the wide gallery that curved around the lobby, mind churning as he crossed to the packs they'd stashed in one far corner of the mezzanine, rummaging through the ancient books. Hauling one free he crouched, balanced it on his knee and flipped through the pages, listening to the snarls and barks outside, the eerie sound of an entire population all watching the windows above his head. It set his skin crawling, cold sweat trickling between his shoulder blades, stinging in the mangled stitches wrapping his arm, in the cuts and claw marks on his chest.

He ignored it, focused on the book, muttered a quick, "Yahtzee," under his breath, rapping one knuckle against the paper and shoving back to his feet with a groan as his knees popped again. Paused for a moment, scanning the library, grinning when he spotted the box of wooden tags on a desk tucked into the opposite corner of the gallery. Hefting the bag to his shoulder, he tucked the book inside, grabbed his shotgun and headed over to it, clearing a space and dropping into the seat as he rummaged in the bag and started working.

Twenty minutes later, he sat back, swiped a hand across his eyes and yawned as he held up the battered, dented canister wrapped thickly with black duct tape and chuckled softly. Levering himself up out of the chair, he set the can down on the desk, flicked the fuse poking through the layers of tape and crossed to the wide balustrade, leaning over it to call quietly.

"Tommy? Hey, c'mon up here kiddo. Bring the water balloons."

He listened to the boy scrambling through the shelves, heard his footsteps echoing in the quiet, his head snapping up as he realized he couldn't hear the Hounds any more, couldn't here anything but the sound of the boy running.

"Aw, hell. _Sam!"_

His brother's startled answer, a crash below and he tensed for a moment, waiting for more sounds, to hear the Hounds baying and snarling but there was nothing, just footsteps, as familiar as his own and he leaned out again, over the empty space of the foyer.

"Sam, they're comin'! Tommy! Get up here! Kate?"

"I got her!" his brother answered, sounded breathless and Dean cursed, spun to the stairs, saw Tommy scrambling up them, clutching an arm full of balloons.

"Tommy! Come on!" he yelled, ducked reflexively when the main doors exploded inwards, the frame ripped away from the wall, hitting the marble floor in a heap of splinters and stone. A small hand slid into his and he dragged the boy with him as he ran back to the desk, slung the bag over one shoulder, transferred Tommy's grip to his jacket and grabbed the shotgun and canister, hearing the boy panting, feeling him shake through the small fist that twisted tight into his side. He stopped, ducked down, found the boy's wide gaze.

"Hey, hey Tommy, it's gonna be okay, alright? We're gonna get out of here now."

The small head nodded at him, but Dean could see Tommy didn't believe it any more than he did and his fingers cramped around the shotgun. _We're never getting out of this, _he thought again, shook off the defeat even as it dragged at him, urged him to just stay down there on his knees.

_I'm tired man, I'm just tired of it._

He stayed low as he scurried to the edge of the gallery again, peered over the edge, saw the figures outside through the ragged hole where the door had been. They clawed at the stone, tore it away piece by piece and his jaw tightened.

"Devil's trap in front of the door ain't much good if they come through the freakin' walls," he muttered, felt Tommy press into his back as the first of them slipped around the marks on the floor, hissing as a toe brushed the edge of the sigil.

Something buzzed against his hip and he started, slapped at his pocket before he realized it was his phone, yanked it free and saw _Sam _on the display. He pressed it to his ear, ducked as a thick chunk of brick and stone shattered against the stairs.

"Sam?"

"_You okay?"_

"I'm awesome. Where are you? You got an exit?"

"_Yeah. Kate's out, she's got Petey."_

He grinned, quick and fierce. "Okay. Get out, Sam."

"_No way, Dean I'm not - "_

"Trust me, Sam. Get out. And duck."

He snapped the phone shut on his brother's protests and shoved it back into his pocket, fumbled for his lighter and struck the wheel, touched the flame to the fuse poking out of the canister.

"Tommy?"

The boy nodded against his back, head pressing hard against the cold spot at the base of his spine and he shivered once, felt it shift and thought, _it's hungry _without quite knowing why. "Get down, kiddo. Okay? Put your arms over your head and close your eyes." The twist of paper caught, smouldered for a moment before the lighter fluid he'd soaked it in flared and he reared up, yelled out as he tossed the canister over the edge of the gallery, _"Fire in the hole!" _

Threw himself over Tommy, had just enough time to think, _it hasn't worked, _when the black powder he'd packed into the canister went off with a dull _whump _that hit his back, shoved him down onto the boy, one thin elbow digging sharp into his ribs and he grinned, laughed through the ringing in his ears, felt something patter down onto his shoulders and rolled up, plucked a charred disc of wood from the floor, the symbol carved into it still glowing.

Tommy blinked up at him, eyes wide in the dark for a moment, before the insistent thrum of his phone against his hip made him drag his gaze away.

"Sammy?"

"_What the hell? Dean?"_

"'s okay, Sammy, we're fine."

Dean shook his head a little, scrambled to his knees and peered over the thick stone balustrade, gaped at the scorched pattern on the marble below, the motionless rag dolls tossed against the walls.

"_What the hell was that? What did you do?"_

"Holy hand grenade," he sniggered, realized he was breathless, adrenaline buzzing too hard along his nerves. All he could do was ride it, grab Tommy's hand and drag the boy with him to the stairs, tripping down them, the raw skin on his palm scraping along the banister as he caught himself.

"_What?"_

He heard his brother's squawk in stereo, oddly out of synch and winced, hissed into the phone as he hustled Tommy around a bookcase propped drunkenly against it's neighbor, "Keep it down, will you? We're comin' your way."

"_Fine,"_ Sam snapped, hung up and Dean rolled his eyes, stuffed his phone back in his pocket as they cleared the last bookcase, saw the wall stretching away to the cracked open french windows in the corner.

"Tommy? How you doin' kiddo?" he asked, felt the hand latched in his shirt tighten in response and ducked his head, met the boy's too wide gaze. "You scared?"

Tommy shook his head, tears bright on his lashes and Dean slowed, crouched a little as they hurried along the wall, thought; _I remember this. _ '_I saw something real bad happen to my mom and I was scared too.' _

"Hey, hey, it's okay to be scared, alright? This is scary stuff."

"You're not."

He had to strain to hear the breathy whisper, reached around and grabbed the boy's wrist, held on tight.

"Yeah, Tommy. I am."

_But we just gotta keep going, _he wanted to say, _we just gotta keep fighting, 'cause that's what your mom and dad would say to do, wouldn't they? _But he couldn't get the words out past the lump in his throat before something groaned and snapped in the low ceiling above their heads. He yanked hard on Tommy's arm before he'd even processed the sound and recognized it, throwing the boy at the open doors and his brother, just stepping through them but he knew it was already too late.

_I'm sorry, _he thought, closed his eyes and waited for the weight of stone and wood and steel to crush down on him. He felt pressure slam into his back instead, hard enough that the air rushed out of his lungs and he heard his ribs creak as he tumbled ass over heels along the floor until he hit the wall hard, his left hip taking the brunt of the impact.

Dean rolled, scrambled hazily to his feet and straightened gingerly, one hand splayed against the wall for balance as he looked for the demon that had thrown him and saw only the ceiling caving in where he'd been a moment before.

"Dean! Come on!"

A hand grabbed at his arm, dragged him through the doors and into the clear, warm air. He blinked, coughed on the dust he hadn't even realized was lining his throat and turned again, found Kate gathering Tommy in to her arms, Petey a pale, shell-shocked bundle clutching her neck. Sam still held his arm with one hand, the other clamped to his nose, blood slipping through his fingers.

Dean's throat turned suddenly dry, arid as the desert as he tried to swallow, forced out his brother's name, saw Sam flinch, just a little.

"I had to," the younger man rasped, fingers closing tighter around his bicep, digging deep into the muscle until he hissed and yanked his arm free. "I had to, Dean."

_You always have to, _whispered a voice in the back of his mind and he shut it down, nodded fractionally, waited for the guilt to fade out of his brother's wavering, bloodshot gaze. He turned away with a strangled sigh when it didn't, scanned the wreckage of the street around them, flames lighting the plumes of smoke as they drifted into the sky from the gutted ruins around the town.

"'s like we're living Linda Hamilton's Judgment Day," he breathed, heard a startled, wet snort from his brother. "Lake's on the edge of town," he went on, easing forward a few steps, his hip throbbing where it had hit the wall, listening hard. "You get what we need?"

Sam came up behind him, a warm, steady beat against the back of his shoulder but he couldn't stop the skin on the back of his neck crawling.

"Yeah. I think so."

"Think so? Sam, you gotta be sure, dude. We're only gonna get one shot at this. Only way out's straight through the middle of them, and I'll bet my pink slip they'll be right on our asses the whole damn way."

The younger man paused, fidgeted at his back until a heavy sigh ruffled his hair.

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm sure. If we can get to the water, I need to bless it for the banishing ritual. That should hold them off long enough for me to finish it and kick their asses right back down to Hell."

"If we can get to the water," Dean echoed, tilted his head back and saw his brother's pale face, lips thinned, eyes tight and scared, knew his own mirrored it. Jaw tight he turned on his heel, hip aching as it stiffened up and he rubbed at it as he limped over to Kate, clutching the two boys to her side.

"Okay, guys, we can stop all this but we gotta..."

He trailed off as he saw Kate back away from him, terror in their faces, her lips thinned, knuckles white around Tommy and Petey's shoulders. "Kate?"

She shook her head, forced out a whisper that sounded like it hurt.

"You're like them. You're just like them."

He frowned for a moment, just a second before he got it. _They saw Sam pull me out of the way. _Blinked and he saw it the way they must have, Sam throwing up a hand, invisible force picking him up off his feet and snatching him out from beneath the crumbling ceiling.

"No, Kate no, you don't – "

_You don't understand, it's not like that, _he wanted to say but he wasn't sure how he could explain it to them, wasn't even sure he could explain it to himself without the blind faith in his brother that had always been enough before.

"He's not like them. Kate, you've just got to trust us."

He reached out, made himself wait when she backed away from him again, pulling the boys with her. He saw her eyes flickering to the streets around them, and Dean knew she was ready to bolt, frightened, everything she thought she knew about the world falling down around her like a house of cards.

_Welcome to our world, _he thought, let the compassion reach his eyes as he held his hand out between them.

"Kate, come on. Has he hurt you? Has either of us done anything to hurt you? Or the boys?"

It was the wrong thing to say and he knew it before the last question even left his tongue, her face closing up, pulling the boys even tighter and Tommy peered at him past her wrist, his own fingers still locked around the silver flask.

"I can get you out, Kate. I promise you, I can get you out and then you can do whatever the hell you want. But you have to trust us. Trust _me."_

He felt Sam's attention on his back, but the younger man didn't say anything and they stood there in the shadows of the building, silence as thick as the dust that settled across his hand, still hovering in midair.

"We can – you'll let us go?"

"Kate, you can go now. No one's stopping you, but if you try and run out there on your own they'll cut you down before you even make it to the end of the street."

"Dean."

Sam, behind him, warning but he saw her flinch, pressed closer, knew he had to make her understand.

"They'll kill you, all three of you and then one of them'll possess ya, walk around wearing your body but that ain't even the worst of it because if you go out there, if ya let 'em cut ya down then they'll do what they came 'ere for in the firs' place – "

"Dean!"

Sam again, and he heard the younger man's tread, pushed on, blind to the naked terror twisting their faces, not hearing the whimpering as the toddler buried his face in Kate's neck and the blood drained out of her face. "Killin' you breaks a se – "

Long fingers latched onto his shoulder, yanked him around with a flare of pain that rocketed down to his fingers, along his spine and sent him stumbling sideways.

"Dean! Dammit, what the hell?"

He gasped, layers of bruises tightening as Sam hauled him away from the last few citizens of Devil's Shores, his knees buckling until he twisted loose with a cry and almost fell. His brother caught him and he sagged into the younger man, head spinning, vision grayed out and shot through with static, his ears buzzing.

_Sammy, _he tried to say, heard his voice, thickened and guttural and _wrong_ mutter "Samuel," instead and cringed, clapped his arm across his mouth, turned wide eyes onto his brother and saw horrified recognition in Sam's face.

He staggered away, tripping backwards until he could lean against the trembling wall and doubled over as his stomach cramped hard. Cold swept up his spine, chill sweat running down his back as he shivered, and the ice felt like darkness, like thick black shadows falling over him, through him and he could almost see them, felt frost bloom under the hand he'd braced against the wall, unfolding from deep down in the pit of his stomach as he -

An open palm cracked across his cheek, snapped his head back into the bricks and stars burst behind his eyes. He folded to his knees, retching, felt someone crowd against him, pressing him into the wall and dimly, through the rushing in his ears, heard his name muttered over and over, ragged with fear.

"Dean? Dean, come on, Dean, snap out of it, De – "

"Sam."

It came out as an almost wordless croak but he heard his brother's shaky laugh, the hands tugging urgently at him shifting to hold him instead, support him as he shuddered through dry heaves.

"You're crazy. Both of you. You're, you're _insane _and _you're not human."_

His head felt as though someone had welded pig iron to his skull but he dragged it up, met Kate's furious, terrified stare.

"Sweetheart, right n-n-now, w-we're all you've got."

He hoped his brother missed the stutter, felt Sam's hands tighten around his biceps and knew the younger man had caught it but he didn't say anything, just waited again, on his knees in the dust and rubble, his body aching as though it had been wrung dry and finally, she nodded.

"As soon as you've... done whatever the fuck it is you're going to do, I'm taking Tommy and Petey and I never want to see either of you freaks again."

Dean nodded, let himself lean into his brother and felt Sam's murmur of reassurance but he didn't listen to it, focused on the faint echo in the back of his mind.

_Ya never heard him scream, Samuel_

_The Ghede._

The thought was heavy, thick in his head and for a moment he wasn't sure and then he looked up, met his brother's gaze and saw the same tiny flicker of recognition. He shivered once, creeping cold stealing up his spine and then he made himself push up against Sam's hands, flattening his own against the wall and shrugging away, trying to hide the tremor in his knees.

"Dean?"

It was quiet, low enough that only he could hear it and he knew his brother wasn't fooled but they were out of time.

"'m good," he rasped, winced at the sharp slice of his voice in his raw throat, the dust drying his tongue and he swiped a hand across his lips, swallowed, trying to work some moisture into his mouth. "Let's get this done."

Sam stared at him for a moment, then smiled grimly and turned to Kate.

"We need the quickest way to the lake."

She glared at him and nodded once, slid her eyes to Dean as he pushed away from the wall, straightening carefully when the world spun around him.

"Okay," she muttered, face pinched and white. "Mustang Street onto Sanders Point. That way," and she gestured awkwardly with an elbow, her hands still knotted in the two boys' shirts.

"Awesome."

He swung around, caught his brother's eyes and Sam tilted his head to the side, a tacit query.

_You up for this?_

He shrugged painfully, hid a wince and twisted his lips up in a thin smile, ticked his chin up towards the side street, just visible through the dust and smoke choking the air.

_I'm fine. Take point._

Sam held his gaze for a moment longer, warning and worry layered patchy over the fear and he swallowed, throat lined with ice, a shiver creeping up his spine.

_Soon, chile'a mine. Soon we all be comin' t'rou. Can ya feel us yet, in ya bones and in ya soul?_

It was a scratch of sound in the back of his mind, barely even there and he shut it down, pushed it away. _Not now. Just... let me get us out of this, _he told himself, couldn't help but squint at the shadows that seemed to settle ever thicker around him, trailing every motion like comet tails as he watched his brother jog to the corner of the building and peer around it carefully.

"Kate, take the boys, follow Sam. I'll cover you," he muttered, waited for her to fall in behind the taller hunter before he let himself sag against the wall for a moment.

"Please," he whispered, saw his breath fog the air. "Not yet. Just give me long enough to get them out."

It sounded like a prayer, felt like one but he didn't know who he was offering it too, a god he still wasn't sure he believed in, angels he didn't trust or the formless void buried somewhere inside him and he swallowed again, heard the dry click in his throat, the slow burn that traced the path of the thin, faded scar circling his neck and shuddered.

"Not yet," he breathed, watched it fade slowly out of sight before he made himself shove away from the wall and follow his brother and the girl, the two children clutched close to her as the sun tipped over its zenith, began the long, slow slide down into the dark.

_**:: :: ::**_

_**All going well, I'll post again in a week or so - hope you enjoyed, and thanks for sticking with me!  
**_


	10. After The Lights Go Out On You

_**A/N**__**: Okay, so I have NO idea of time at the moment - I'm not even sure what day it is now - so sorry if you've been waiting! Here's the penultimate chapter, for your viewing pleasure...**_

_~~HoC~~_

_Now you want to take me down,_

_As if I even care._

_I am the monster in your head,_

_and I thought you'd learn by now,_

_it seems you haven't yet,_

_I am the venom in your skin._

_~~HoC~~_

Their footfalls echoed from the walls, crumbling dust down around them as they ran and Sam could hear the hounds behind them, couldn't tell if they were following or not and the uncertainty made his feet unsure, unsteady, his gait stumbling.

He didn't dare turn to look, just strained his ears past the ragged gasping as Kate pounded the street behind him, Tommy sobbing for breath as she dragged the boy along, past the solid thump of Dean's boots, the faint rasp of his breathing, listening desperately for the scrape of claws against concrete, for the snarling howls to erupt into the savage growling that he couldn't forget.

His heart hammered at his throat, his mouth lined with the smoke that hung in the air as the town burned, distant thunder of explosions still trembling through the ground as the demons razed it to the ground.

_Overkill, _he thought, almost wanted to laugh at the idea of anything being overkill when there were demons involved. _Destruction for destruction's sake, that's all they are. _

The edge of the block they were running along loomed up through the dust, the corner of the buildings catching the sunlight and he blinked, honestly surprised at the brightness of the glow that seemed to etch the bricks with gold. He snatched a glance at his watch.

_Thirteen hundred hours. Feels more like midnight._

He frowned a little, scowling up at the heavy pall of smoke that darkened the sky, his grip tightening around his shotgun when he flicked back through his memories, trying to work out how long it had been since he'd woken up in the passenger seat of the Impala and found himself five states away from where he'd fallen asleep.

_Forty hours, give or take. Jesus._

It seemed longer, time stretching around them, the eerie gloom and thick hush disorienting and he huffed out a breath, coughed a little, wished fervently for a tall glass of water as he skidded to a halt, threw up a hand behind him.

When Kate stumbled and leaned panting against the wall, he looked back, searched out his brother's gaze.

_He looks like crap, _Sam thought, taking in the bloodshot eyes, shadowed with bruises, Dean's face pale and lined with pain and fatigue. Sam knew he didn't look much better, the scant few hours of sleep he'd managed just clinging to his thoughts, muddying them.

_I could sleep for a week, _and he winced at the thought, old memory surfacing of hurt in his brother's eyes, the guilt he hadn't even realized he should feel until so much later. He waited for his brother's nod before he sidled up to the edge of the building, shoulders pressed against brick, fine grains of mortar trickling down his collar as he peered around the edge, squinting into the sun.

The wide street was filled with shadows, the bright light slanting through the choking dust until the air seemed alight, opaque and the darkness beyond could have hidden a dozen hounds and demons, a trap just waiting to be sprung.

"Crap," he breathed, felt a solid presence slide up behind him and tensed, unable to relax even when Dean curled one cold hand around his arm. Sam could feel the tremors rippling through the older man's fingers, the chill settling deep into muscle until his arm ached from shoulder to wrist and he shivered.

"We're gonna be sittin' ducks out there," Dean murmured, shifting away and Sam glanced back at him, saw a muscle in his cheek jump, his jaw tight. Dean wouldn't meet his eyes, shying away when he ducked down a little and he sighed.

_We don't have time for this, _he thought, wanted to just stop and shake the truth out of his brother and he remembered the way Dean's voice had thickened, sliding into the loose drawl of the Southern accent, the same lilt that the Ghede had spoken with, the ice forming around his brother's hand as Dean held the shotgun so tight his knuckles had been white. _It's inside you, isn't it? _he wanted to ask, _when it bound you, when I ASKED it to bind you, it found a way in and it's getting stronger._

"Unless Kate knows another way around," he murmured instead, fists clenched, felt his brother lean away and heard Dean's low voice, Kate's high, sharp answer echoing from the walls, too loud. Sam winced, wondered if he'd really heard something move out in the street, if he'd just imagined the shadows changing, as if something was moving within them.

"Devil's Cliff," Dean breathed behind him and Sam gnawed at his lip thoughtfully. "She says there's a path down to the lake from the end of the road."

"It turned off a couple blocks back, I think," he answered, the air shifting slowly at his back as Dean nodded. They eased back and he jogged into the lead, tension prickling against his skin as they hurried past blind windows, cracked and shattered and plastered with dust. He was halfway down the block, Kate a few feet behind him, Dean still near the corner when the ground jumped, a loud _CRUMP _slamming through the air and glass crashed to the street around them as the air shoving hard at his back, a quick punch that sent him stumbling forward, fighting to keep his balance. He heard Kate fall and spun on his heels, saw his brother sprawled facedown on the cracked ground and a thick plume of smoke rising into the sky behind them.

_Dean._

He scanned the junction behind them as he ran forward, his stomach twisting into a knot as realized the explosion had come from the street they'd just turned away from, remembered that faint shift in the dark, shadows moving.

_Were they waiting for us? Or were they just getting ready to blow the place anyway? We would have been right in front of it._

It had felt too much like a trap, but then, most of the town felt like it was a snare waiting to snap shut around them and he couldn't decide if it even mattered as he dashed past Kate, wobbling dazedly up onto her knees, one hand already pressed across Petey's mouth as the toddler hiccuped, his wails muffled.

"Dean!" he called, as loudly as he dared, saw his brother twitch and the knot in his gut loosened as the older man dragged his hands under him, pushed up onto one elbow. He slowed, stopped ten feet away and watched Dean's lips move, shaping curses as Dean looked up at him, eyes bleary. "Dean? You okay?"

Dean nodded, winced, flapped a hand at him as he rolled clumsily to his knees and Sam frowned, waited a moment longer until he was sure his brother wasn't going to keel over and faceplant back onto the broken street.

"Sam, go."

It was faint, a shallow rasp but he huffed out a breath, turned on his heel again and trotted back to Kate, still wavering on her knees. She stared at the hand he offered her like he was holding out a live and very pissed off rattlesnake, finally took it and he hauled her to her feet, steadied her for a moment.

"Devil's Cliff?" he prompted quietly when she just looked around and she trembled, twisted away from his hand, stumbled to the far side of the street and stood waiting, determinedly not looking at him.

It hurt, oddly deep, called up hazy recollections of labeling himself a freak, of old fear as he realized his dreams were visions, as each new ability appeared and he wondered when he'd forgotten that he'd feared them, the power simmering inside him.

_Right around the time you got yourself killed, _he told himself, the greater fear of the countdown ticking away that long, long year burying the fear of his powers, desperation letting him push them further and further and then the even longer four months when all he cared about was killing Lilith, realizing somewhere along the way that he wasn't scared any more, that fear had been burned out of him with his brother's screams as the Hellhounds tore him to pieces.

"Sam?"

Dean's voice, right behind him and he jumped a little, twitched one shoulder in a loose shrug.

"Yeah. You okay?"

"Peachy," his brother grated, shifted away to stand at the edge of his vision and he caught the way Dean's back tightened as he looked over at Kate, still staring resolutely at everything except them.

_Both of you, you're insane and you're not human._

The older man's gaze flickered as he looked away, scanning the street restlessly and Sam wondered if his brother felt it as keenly as he did, if Dean listened to the little voice in the back of his mind that whispered cruel agreement.

_Once ya tell me yes, there ain't no goin' back. No' for eider of ya, no matter what come. No matter what it do to ya. _

He screwed his eyes shut for a moment, exhaustion weighing heavily as the adrenaline drained out of him and he huffed out a shaky sigh, reached up to pinch the bridge of his nose between finger and thumb.

"Sam? Hey, 'ey wha' t'is it?"

He froze at the soft edge of the heavy accent lilting in his brother's voice, sure Dean hadn't even heard it and his head was impossibly heavy as he forced it up, his neck aching, found his brother's face tight with worry as Dean peered up at him.

"Nothin'," he grated, watched the shadows in his brother's eyes shift and dance and couldn't work out what was emotion and what was something else, something that had a laugh like broken gravestones cracking together. _No time, there's no time for this! _"Come on. Let's get this done," he bit out, made himself smile thinly and turn away, all of it suddenly crushingly heavy as he pushed himself into a quick trot, weaving through the rubble littering the street.

_Seals and the apocalypse, Lilith and the angels and now this?_

"War on two fronts," he muttered to himself. "Too much," and felt his hands curl into fists, his nails digging deep into his palms as he listened to them fall in behind him, Kate and the boys, Tommy still whimpering, Petey utterly silent, Dean nothing more than a soft scrape of boot against stone and a cold, dark presence at the back of his mind. _It's too much. Please._

It was a mistake and he knew it, but with an effort, he shoved it all to the back of his mind, ignoring the dread sinking deep into the pit of his stomach and letting his thoughts settle on the town being systematically destroyed around them, another dull explosion shifting the air. _Making sure they're all dead, _he thought, focused on the spellwork he'd need to hurry through once they reached the lake with single minded intensity. Broken ruins loomed up in the smoke, drifted past as they hurried through the empty streets and all the way, the back of his neck prickled with the sensation of eyes on him, as inhuman as Kate had labeled them. Sound was muted, the howling distant, the crack of stone and bricks falling muffled and heavy, as if his ears were stuffed with cotton, his head beginning to pound with a deep, dull ache that he recognized. Automatically, he reached up, swiped a hand across the hot trickle spilling over his top lip and glanced absently at the dark smear on his knuckles, only realized then that power was thrumming just under his skin, tingling along every nerve, driving away the exhaustion that came of riding the edge of adrenaline and emotion for too long.

_Slippery slope, brother. Just wait and see, 'cause it's gonna get darker, and darker, and god knows where it ends._

Dean had looked at Sam, right through him as he'd said it, months ago and he'd been so certain then, so convinced that he could stop it, _I'm not gonna let it go too far, _but suddenly, coughing on the smoke and dust of the crumbling town, listening to Hellhounds bay two streets over, he could feel it beating against his skull, shimmering at the edges of his sight and he gulped down thick air laced with burgeoning panic as he realized he wasn't sure he wanted it to stop. He slowed, resolve wavering as he neared a corner in the street, shattered glass in the shop fronts lining it throwing back twisted, broken reflections. His steps faltered, the ache in his head turning to a sharp stab of pain as he started to push the power away and then he turned the corner, caught a fragmented glimpse of a massive snarl below eyes that burned red and bloody, the growl driving atavistic terror down his spine.

He yelped, threw himself back and flung up a hand as he fell, time slowing, blurring and the Hound hung frozen in midair, pinned in place in the middle of a furious leap that would have buried him beneath its awful weight. He landed hard, the ground smacking into his tailbone and the jolt cracked up his spine, snapped his teeth together, he tasted blood as his concentration broke.

"_Sammy!"_

The cry echoed through the howl that ripped out of the Hounds throat as it crashed to the ground and he rolled back as it gathered itself, made it to his knees before it rushed him again and this time he punched at the air, sent it tumbling down the street as Kate screamed behind him, Tommy and Petey wailing, his ears ringing with the sudden cacophony. Through the din he heard footsteps, rushing towards him, felt fingers latch around his arm and drag him to his feet and he almost laughed with the relief as the heat of his brother's hand warmed him, let Dean shake him a little before he jerked out of the older man's grip.

"Sammy? Fuck, Sam, are you okay?"

"I'm fine."

"You're bleedin', where'd it get you, Sam?"

"I'm _fine, _Dean," he snapped, pulled away and watched the Hound scrabble back onto its paws. He grinned, strode forward, ignoring Dean's startled yelp as he threw up his hand again, fingers spread wide and the Hound snarled at him, threw itself against the bonds he wrapped around it. When he curled his fingers into his palm, he could feel fur rippling under his skin and the Hound yelped as he tightened his hand into his fist, writhing, claws gouging furrows through the street.

"Fuck, Sam!"

Sam ignored his brother's cry, the shrill sound of Kate and the two children wailing, heard his heart thundering in his ears as he squeezed his hand tighter and the Hound screamed as it convulsed, smoke pouring from its hide as it split. The howl battered at his skin, sent him stumbling back into a warm body behind him and Dean cursed, grabbed at his shoulder, swinging him away. He caught a glimpse of the shotgun wobbling in his brother's one-handed grip and then the muzzle flash blinded him, the crash of the shot ringing in his ears. Sam stumbled, cried out, his head exploding with pain. He folded down to one knee, clutching at his head as if he could hold it together, tasted hot blood in his mouth and gagged, let the hands that dug painfully tight into his shoulders support him.

"I gotcha, I gotcha Sammy, Jesus, 's okay. It's gonna be okay."

When he could think straight again, he'd wonder if Dean knew how unconvincing he sounded, if the older man could even hear the tremor in his voice as he pulled Sam tightly against him.

_I've killed us both, _he thought, not quite sure what he meant, except that his brother's voice kept sliding into that cold, smooth lilt that sounded like bleached bones striking together and he'd just crushed a Hellhound from halfway down the street, the sick enjoyment at the power still scorching along his nerves churning in his gut.

"S-s-sh-she's r-right," he stammered into Dean's shirt, wincing as the echoes reverberated around his skull.

"No. She ain't."

There was no hesitation, no questioning who 'she' was and Sam knew his brother had been replaying Kate's terrified accusations just as much as he had.

_She is. What we're becoming, it's not human. This is what Cas meant._

"Sammy, we gotta go. Now."

Urgency in Dean's voice, rumbling under his cheek as he shivered through the reaction, choked down the power that kept curling down his arm, into the hand he didn't think his brother had noticed was clenched into a fist so tight his knuckles were bleached and Sam nodded into the older man's shoulder, levered up to his knees, then his feet, finally stood swaying. He clamped the hand that waasn't balled up and trembling over his nose, blood still seeping slickly through his fingers.

_You gotta take it easy, Sam. Build up some stamina. Just like training your body, you've got to train your mind to cope with what you're trying to do._

He blinked, realized he hadn't thought of Ruby in a long time, a sudden, brief pang of longing shifting in the pit of his stomach and he squirmed a little, uncomfortable, hoping Dean wouldn't notice as the older man clambered to his feet again with a low groan.

"Fuck, I'm getting' too old for this."

Sam smirked thinly, felt adrenaline spiking through his blood again, made the effort at _normal._

"Thought you came back all new and improved?"

Dean shot him a glare, eyes narrowed and tight, shuttered tightly over rage and hurt and Sam winced an apology, _too soon for that shit. _

"Whatever," his brother flipped it off with a shrug. "Devil's Cliff's down the street. Jesus, names like that, no wonder these places draw trouble..."

He watched the hunter limp away, his grumbling fading quickly as Dean edged past the slowly dissolving corpse of the Hellhound, rancid smoke twisting up to join the pall filling the sky. Kate shuffled after him with Tommy and Petey, the set of her shoulders high, hunched up around her ears and he knew fear when he saw it, knew what it was like to see danger on all sides and have to choose the lesser of so many evils.

_Slippery slope, little brother._

"I know," he breathed this time, let them get halfway down the next block while he waited for the blood to stop trickling from his nose. The pounding nails-on-chalk-board beat in his head didn't ease off, but he pushed it away, followed them as far behind as he dared, trying to forget the itch of fur against his hand, the ripple and jolt as bones crushed and the surge of... not joy, but something close, something that came from right down deep in the hindbrain and he shivered a little, closed the gap a few feet.

Heard the footsteps behind them, the sound echoing through the wrecked streets and the baying howl that tore through the smoke turned his blood to ice.

:::

_We're not gonna make it._

Not the first time the thought had careered through Dean's mind, but this time, it was sheer pragmatism, the strategist in him weighing the odds as the sound of the crowd at their heels grew ever louder, ever closer against their own stumbling, failing pace.

_We've been running too long, too far. We're never going to make it to the lake._

He didn't know how the Hounds had caught their scent, maybe in that sunlit street, maybe some other kind of trap, designed to alert the demons to their presence but it didn't really matter. He sucked down dust and grit, felt it scraping at his throat, imagined it was clogging his lungs, slow suffocation, as if it was filling them inch by inch.

_Been there, done that, _he thought, winced away from the blurred memory with a panted curse and snatched a look back over his shoulder, saw Sam behind them, a tall shape he knew as well as his own shadow, barely visible through the thick cloud of smog and dust that had swept down over them the moment they ran out of the town. The sunlight slanted through it, so bright he wished distantly for the sunglasses he'd left in the Impala, wondered if the car was even still there.

_They better not touch my girl. Swear to god._

Away from the buildings, every sound was muffled, echoing dully in the smoke. He could hear his breath, rasping through the gravel in his throat, Tommy's hitching pants, Kate's gasps beyond that and more faintly, he could hear his brother's footsteps, a steady cadence behind him. For a moment, he couldn't hear the pounding rush, the walking – _running – _corpses suddenly lost in the hush and he slowed a little, nerves prickling, not trusting the quiet at all.

Peering around nervously, he realized they were running through a parking lot, cars just dim shapes in the haze, hope sparking as he remembered the hasty description Kate had given him, _the cliff road runs up to a view point, then there's a path down to the beach and the lake._

_We're almost there._

The ragged laugh that tore up through the smoke felt like someone had kicked him in the chest, shattering the fragile hope, so close and ringing from the clouds and he froze, a split second when he was falling rather than running, caught a glimpse of scorching eyes through the smoke as it swirled away, caught in some random updraft that cleared the air between himself and the rotting corpse of a young man, one hand curled into a reaching claw, the other gone, just a tattered stump an inch or two below the elbow. The demon inside it grinned at him, half the face it was wearing torn away so that Dean could see stained teeth glinting pale through the dried, blackened smears of blood.

"Fuck," he breathed, and then the thing convulsed, dropped to its knees and threw its head back as smoke poured out through the ruined mouth with an unearthly shriek. Dean jumped, heard Sam cough wetly.

_He did that, _he thought, knew his brother was choking on blood instead of dust and his stomach knotted up, bile sharp in the back of his throat as he saw Kate's pale face and too-wide eyes. He shook his head helplessly, hated her, briefly, with a searing fury when her mouth thinned, face pinched with disgust and fear.

_We're risking everything for you, don't you get that? Not just our lives. __**Everything.**_

But he couldn't put it into words, even if he had enough breath to spare, the feeling of standing poised on the brink of some abyss, something awful waiting to swallow them both and everything lined up to force them over the edge. He shivered, even though the smoke was hot, the sun burning through it, shadows twisting at the edges of his vision.

_We're giving up our souls for you._

Beside him, Kate cried out as she tripped, stumbling wildly, desperate to keep her balance.

If any one of them went down, it was over.

"Crap," he muttered, snatched Tommy from her arms and slung the kid up to his hip, felt small hands knot in his shirt, the boy's feet thumping against his chest and spine as he twisted, grabbed Kate's hand and dragged her on until she found her balance, never slowing, even when it felt as though his throat was lined with glass, as though the air he was choking down was burning. "C'mon!"

He shoved the girl in the back, wanted himself between her and the horde behind them and Petey peered back at him over her shoulder, face streaked with tears, soot and ash smeared across his cheeks as he wailed. From somewhere, he found a smile, figured it was more like a grimace when the boy just cried harder and let it slide away, twisting back again.

His brother was _gone, _the place where he'd been just a shifting vortex of smoke and Dean slowed, heart hammering at his ribs.

"Sam? Sam!"

"I'm good, keep goin'!"

It came from the side, near the indistinct shadows of cars and he squinted, thought he saw a faint, tall shape, ducking behind them. "You better have a damn good plan, little brother," he panted and Tommy buried his face in Dean's hair as someone screamed behind him, started choking. He recognized the sound, the thick, awful gagging as the demon fought his brother's will and clenched his fist tight around the shotgun.

"That ain't a good plan."

All he could do was go along with it, the kid bouncing on his hip as he hurried on, every step jarring his aching body. The world went quiet, close, made tiny by the smoke and the scuff of their footfalls was loud, echoes dulled. He heard it before he saw it, the low rush and clatter of water over rocks coming softly through the fog of smoke. Dean slowed, let Kate catch him up and she grinned at him for a moment, before she seemed to remember to be scared and her face shut down again, closed off.

"We made it," he muttered, waited for her nod before twisting back to peer over his shoulder, looking for his brother's tall shadow through the haze. It lifted, caught in an eddy of scorched air, swirled away from the dim shapes of cars lining the small parking lot. Things shifted in the glass, reflections dancing across the soot-streaked metal and he glared, hefted his shotgun, wished there was something to aim at.

"They're tryin' to flank us," he murmured, palms itching with adrenaline, the need to hit something, to _fight _rattling him, making his pulse skip and race and he pushed it away with an effort, tried not to jump when Sam appeared out of the smoke at his side.

"There's a couple hounds out there, can't work out how many demons," the younger man breathed and Dean nodded tightly.

"Path down to the lake's on the South West side of the lot."

They swung around to squint through the fog together and he stiffened as he heard a scrape behind them, felt Sam go taut beside him. He knew what it was without looking, could _feel _the awful weight, as if it was bowing the shape of the world, some false gravity dragging at his soul and his heart stuttered, cold sweat trickling down his spine.

_Hellhound._

It snarled, so deep the sound shook along his bones and he squeezed his eyes shut, saw, in the dark, _them leaping for him, dragging him down off the table, smothering him as they tore at him, digging for his soul, slavering over it as they ripped it out of his body and left his ruined shell behind._

His eyes snapped open, wide and he knew he was shaking, his brother's gaze sliding over him.

_Fuck, Dean, pull your shit together._

He swallowed hard, lifted the shotgun an inch, ready to spin and unleash both useless barrels at the thing behind them, opened his mouth to shout _Kate, run! _and swallowed the cry when a hand slammed into his shoulder, knocked him clear off his feet. He crashed to the ground, aching hip slamming into concrete, breath knocked out of him as he scrambled to his knees in time to see Sam fling his arm up, fingers spread wide.

_Oh fuck, _he thought, an instant of perfect clarity as he searched his brother's face for the furious joy he'd seen there as Sam crushed the Hound back in the town, saw nothing but fear and determination. He _felt _the power that rushed out of the tall hunter, rocking him back on his knees but it slammed into the beast, picked it up and flattened it against the side of an SUV. The alarm blared, almost covering the pained whimper that Sam let out as he slumped down to the ground and Dean's stare flicked between his brother and the carcass beginning to dissolve, still pinned to the crumpled side of the vehicle.

_Jesus._

Nothing moved except the twisting smoke and the shadows dancing around the edges of his vision. His heart pounded in his throat, blood rushing through his ears and all he could hear was their rasping breaths, his and Sam's as he watched his brother, crouched on all fours, head hanging low.

"They're still comin'."

The rough croak made him jump, the stillness broken as the younger man sank back onto his haunches and Dean shook himself, scrambled over to him, grimacing at the dark streaks of blood trailing from Sam's nose and ears.

"I know. You gonna make it down? Or've I gotta carry your heavy ass?"

Sam huffed, rolled his eyes and pushed himself up against Dean's shoulder, took two wobbly, shaky steps forward before he stopped, ticked his head to the side.

"You hear that?"

Dean froze halfway to his own feet, listening hard, blinking away a moment of deja vu, _standing outside their motel room listening for the tiny, thin cry._

_Christ, was that only yesterday?_

"I got nothin'."

"They've stopped."

Sam sounded almost wondering, distant and the older man pushed up again, squinted into his face. His eyes were unfocused, glassy and Dean growled, tugged at his brother's arm.

"Whatever. Let's get to the freakin' lake, huh?"

Sam nodded, still gazing out at the smoke and Dean yanked the bag from his shoulder, had to drag him over to the edge of the low cliff, push him down the path that switchbacked down to the rocky shore, a few yards below. He froze when he realized he could see his shadow, looked up, watched the smoke blowing away in a breeze he couldn't feel, tattered and lacy as it rolled back and his skin crawled as he thought, _they're doin' that. They want to be able to see us._

It wasn't exactly reassuring and he didn't wait for Sam to reach the bottom of the path, following close on the younger man's heels, crowding him away from the cliff, watching the sky nervously.

"What the hell?"

He slid a glance at his brother, saw him blinking, pulling his arm out of Dean's grasp to rub at his eyes but he seemed aware again, swiping irritably at the blood that still tricked down over his lips.

"I dunno. But it can't be anythin' good. Come on."

They turned, began to jog to the lake, the rough beach littered with broken bottles, charred remains of barbeques. Dean searched for the others, found Kate already standing thigh deep in the water with Petey in her arms, Tommy clutching her waist, the water up to his chin.

_Crap, that better be deep enough._

A cry behind him cut off the thought, ripe with victory and bloodlust and he cringed, snatched a look back over one shoulder and saw them swarming down the cliff, scattered tendrils of smoke clinging to them. They made no effort to hide the gaping wounds that had killed their hosts and he almost gagged when he saw one of them stop, a woman, her stomach slashed open, greyish loops of her guts snagging on a rock until she wrenched free.

He looked away sharply, clamped his jaw shut, heard Sam swallow thickly as they scrambled over the rough shoreline and he knew there wasn't enough time, mind blank when he tried to find a way to slow the demons behind them down.

"You gotta... do the ritual," his brother panted, catching at his arm for balance as a stone turned beneath him.

"What?"

"Dean, you gotta do the ritual. Three times, okay? Bless the water three times!"

"Sam, wait!"

He reached out, snatched for the younger man's sleeve but Sam was gone, his fingers closing on empty air as his brother spun away, stretched one arm out in front of him. Dean swore viciously as the first wave of demons crumpled to the ground, smoke pouring from their mouths, smothering their cries and he hesitated for a moment until Sam turned back, glowered at him.

"Dean! Go!"

"_Fuck."_

He went, even though it felt like he was tearing his heart out of his chest and stamping over it as he lunged forward, splashed into the lake and found himself knee deep in thick, oily sludge, so bitterly cold it sank deep into his legs, ached clear up to his hips.

_What the hell? _

It had to be the seal, cracking and failing, tainting the water. He shivered, dug into the bag and pulled out the leather-bound book, a heavy chalice, a rosary clattering inside the cup and the fouled liquid _burned _as he plunged the chalice under the surface, his fingers cramping. His teeth began to chatter as he mumbled the ritual, attention fixed to the shore and his brother, standing tall in the middle of the rough beach, day old corpses piling up at the base of the cliff as he ripped the demons out of them.

_Jesus, Sammy, hold on, _he thought, chanted faster but the words were ancient, unfamiliar and he kept tripping over them until he made himself turn away, eyes burning as he glanced up and saw Kate staring at the beach, her face drawn with horror and grief.

Shifting his stance as the water roiled around him, he poured the cleansed water from the chalice back into the lake, shouted the last words of the ritual, his voice cracking harshly and he waited for a rush of power, for the screams of the demons as they were sucked back to Hell but there was nothing, just the sluggish ripples breaking around his legs, the clear water he'd poured into the lake already swallowed up.

_It didn't work._

"Aw, hell," he groaned, spun, tripping over the rough lake bed, splashing the thick, tarry water everywhere as he flailed to keep his balance and almost lost it as soon as he found it when he saw his brother on his knees, one hand braced on the ground, the other shaking in mid-air.

"Sam. No."

Even as he stared, the cold air coming off the water stinging his eyes, he saw his brother sag, clench his upheld hand into a fist, back arching as he coughed and he could see the dark splatters on the rocks beneath Sam, felt his heart slam to a halt as he watched his brother hack up a mouthful of gore, spitting it out with a low cry, thinned by the distance between them.

"God, Sammy, stop. Stop it."

Another clutch of demons crashed to the ground, screaming and writhing, black smoke flowing like oil over the rocks and he started running, heard splashing behind him. A quick glance showed him Kate surging through the lake, dragging Tommy in her wake, face white and taut but determined and he could have laughed, _puppy dog eyes do it again, _but his brother was sliding down to the ground, choking and gasping so he just ran, threw himself through the tainted lake, perpetually teetering on the edge of falling, somehow keeping his feet.

When he finally made it out of the lake he lengthened his stride, three long, lunging paces and then he let himself drop, sliding in beside his brother as Sam curled weakly onto his side.

"Jesus, Sammy."

He didn't know where to touch, hands darting from the fist still hovering a foot above the ground, knuckles bleached with the force of Sam's grip, the younger man's blood hot and slick under his fingers when Dean finally eased his hand under Sam's head, cradled it in his lap for a moment and tried hard not to remember the way his brother's weight had settled against him, heavy and hollow and crushing. In the back of his mind he remembered_ shouldering the awful burden, stumbling for mile after mile over endless hills made of razor-edged iron, shapes he couldn't ever quite make out cackling as they darted in to tear at his body and the sun never set, hanging low and swollen in the sky, blistering, charring his skin..._

"Oh god, oh my god, is he? He's dead, he's – "

Kate's soft cry wrenched him back and he jolted, curled his brother into his chest tightly, refused to let himself check his skin for burns.

"He's not dead," he snapped over his shoulder, caught a glimpse of Tommy standing in the shallows, Petey clutched to his side behind her. His heart lodged in his throat as he fought down the tremors the memory sent rippling down his spine. "He's gonna be fine."

A hand wobbled up, wound shaky fingers into his shirt and he laughed shakily, tried to smile but it was more of a grimace and he let it slide away, looked down, met his brother's dazed stare.

"Dee..."

"I'm here, Sammy."

"Gotta... stop them. I gotta stop..."

Dean shook his head, jaw tight as he stared at his brother, blood smeared across the younger man's face, gray with exhaustion, pinched and haggard.

"No, Sam. No way. You'll kill yourself."

"No... 's n'other way."

As if in answer, a chill curled up his back, crept into his lungs and heart and he shivered, held himself utterly still for a moment, saw the shadows twist around his vision thicken. He could almost see them, figures inside the darkness, reaching out for him, long fingers beckoning, whispers scraping at his mind like claws scratching at the door.

_It's too dangerous, man, you know it is. You can't control it._

He blinked his vision clear, pushed his brother's voice and theirs away until all he could hear was his heartbeat, quick and loud, let himself take a second to think, desperate plans flickering through his mind but all of them ended in ruins, the seal cracked as their blood spilled on the shore.

All of them but one, and he nodded fractionally as he decided.

"Sorry, Sammy," he breathed, holding his brother tight. "My turn."

"Dean. No."

He pushed up as Sam muttered it, barely more than a moan, pulling his brother with him.

"Kate. Take him into the lake, get them as deep as you can. You hear me? As deep as you can!"

He didn't know where the certainty that the water would protect them came from, even though the ritual hadn't worked, he just felt it bone-deep, shoved Sam at her and waited until she began staggering away, one of the tall hunter's arms slung over her shoulders, his feet dragging across the shore and into the lake. Already, he was stirring, even as Dean watched he could see his brother's legs start to pull beneath him, trembling as they took his weight and he soaked up the sight, drank it in as if it was the water they'd eternally denied him in that iron desert.

His lips stretched in a wan smile as Sam pulled away from Kate, twisting back, listing into her as he searched for Dean's gaze and the older man waited for the connection, felt the subtle jolt and realized he hadn't felt it in so long.

_You never really see me any more, _he thought, watched his brother understand, agony shifting in Sam's eyes. _Not since Pontiac. _And god, he'd missed it, it was as if the world settled back into place, as if it had been tilted off its axis for so many months, secrets and distance between them growing and he'd barely even noticed it until now. He saw Sam's mouth shape his name, let his smile spread and shrugged, spread his hands a little, made it cocksure and arrogant when they wanted to shake, to shiver with the chill that was already creeping up his spine.

_I don't want to do this, _he thought, choked down a whimper as he turned, legs buckling with the cold that surged up. _God help me, I don't want to do this. Please. _

"Cas," he whispered, saw them surging over the edge of the cliff. "Cas, help me. I'm beggin' you here."

There was no rush of wings, no presence at his back and he shook his head, jaw tight, a sharp ache in his throat.

"Screw you then."

And he snarled at them as he broke into a sprint, boots pounding over rocks and shattered glass, ice roaring through his blood, tingling down into his fingers as he threw his arms up and out, as if he was running to embrace them.

Behind him, he heard Sam shout, frantic, desperate, and deep in his mind, a low murmur, _never said goodbye, _shuddered as he realized he couldn't tell if it was his own thought or alien.

The cold slammed out of him, a wall of fury that screamed over the last few feet separating him from the demons and he skidded to a halt, bit back a cry as he _burned _with the cold, squeezed his eyes shut as shadows swept up around him, consumed him with a howl of desire and gloating triumph that rang inside his skull and turned his stomach. He swallowed acid, groaned as something poured into him, _filled _him and suddenly thought _no, no I was wrong, stop it stopitSTOPIT _and by then it was far, far too late.

He was drowning, smothered in shadows that laughed and sang as they choked him and he never felt his knees crash into the rocks as he fell, a blast of ice freezing the lake. He never saw the demons torn out of their hosts in a writhing, baying mass that tattered away into nothing, the silence that followed so thick it was almost tangible, stone cracking as hoarfrost silvered the beach and it sounded like gunshots in the hush, like something fracturing, sundered.

Like the world breaking.

_~~HoC~~_

_**EndNotes: Thanks for your patience! I'm gonna post the last chapter now, so you haven't even got the cliffie to worry about! (Well, I figure I've given you enough of them in the story so far!)  
**_


	11. Stand Inside

_My eyes have seen they have been shown. _

_This is an occupation, to stand alone._

_I suffer you, you suffer me, _

_We are the Devil's plaything, into this reckoning ._

_~~HoC~~_

"_DEAN!"_

He howled his brother's name as he watched the older man throw his arms out as if he was welcoming the walking corpses, couldn't even hear his cry over the screaming that tore from dozens of throats as the demons lit up inside their hosts, the corpses thrashing on the rocks. They writhed up, smoke roiling on the air above the lake, nothing natural in the way it churned and fought to escape and Sam staggered, legs shaking as he pulled out of Kate's shocked grasp, tripping over the rough lake bed and his own feet.

"Fuck, Dean, _stop!"_

But he was too far away, the water still halfway up his legs when Dean slid down, falling in slow motion, the crack of his knees against the ground sounding sharply in the sudden hush that crashed down over the lake and all he could do was watch, fingernails buried in his palms as the corpses were scattered in a rush of power that slammed out across the shore, the hunter on his knees at the epicentre.

When it hit the lake, it froze the blessed water solid in the shallows, turned it to a gritty slush choked with miniature icebergs further out and they ground together as Sam gasped with the cold, so deep it ached, burned his skin and ached right down to the bone. He didn't stop, forced his legs through the ice as the greasy cloud flared out in a storm of fire that rained sparks down across the beach, black light that sucked at his senses until he staggered to a halt at last, screwed his eyes shut with a muttered oath and _felt _it drag the cloud down, away, in a direction he couldn't name, like nothing he'd ever known before. The demons' screams were like a wire saw dragging through his soul, buzzing along his jaw. He felt wet heat run down the side of his neck, blood on his fingers when he swiped his hand through it, sharp pain stinging in his ears and then it was gone, just a rushing noise, static humming in his skull.

His legs were numbed with the cold, eyes streaming, hazing his view of the corpses tumbling and rolling away from his brother, bouncing over the rocks, limbs flopping with grotesque fluidity until they fetched up against the base of the cliff, piled together in a jumble of twisted arms and legs, bodies knotted together.

"Sam?"

Kate, behind him, her voice warbling and fuzzy through his stinging ears and he called back over his shoulder as he slogged on through the cold, cold sludge.

"Stay there! Just stay there!"

He watched his brother slump, curling down over his knees and squinted for a moment at the shadows swarming around the older man. Sam blinked hard, scrubbed one trembling hand across his eyes, trying to clear them as he slammed and kicked his way through the motionless waves, frozen in concentric ripples spreading out into the lake. But his eyes wouldn't clear, still fogged with shadows that flickered and twisted around Dean as the hunter huddled on the shore, arms still spread wide and the first jolt of fear shuddered through the younger man.

"Dean?"

His cry should have echoed, should have bounced from the low cliffs surrounding the icy lake but it fell into the hush like a stone, muffled and drowned out by a hum that shimmered along his bones.

_God, please. No._

He knew it, recognised it faintly, blinked away a vision of endless rows of gravestones leaning drunkenly together, shrouded in mist and echoing with terrible laughter and redoubled his efforts, lunging forward through the ice.

"Dean! _Stop!"_

His heart leaped into his throat when he saw his brother's head lift slowly, heavily and hope choked him, swelled behind his ribs until they ached. The older man's hands curled into fists, so tight that Sam could see them shake from a dozen feet away, stumbled as he lunged forward and tripped, landed on hands and knees in the frigid water with a shocked cry as the cold slammed into him. He shuddered, tried to push up to his feet but he couldn't move, his arms and legs numb and useless and panic crashed through him, the chill reaching into his hips and shoulders, creeping deeper along his spine.

It felt almost alive, as if it was seeking for something inside him and he moaned as he shoved hard against the rough lake bed, fingers clutching at the shallow layer of sludge that coated the rocks, ice crystals digging deep into his palms as he forced himself up an inch at a time, his breath clouding thick in front of his face. It froze on his eyelashes, his lips cracking until he could taste old iron on his tongue and he _hurt, _a bone deep ache that sapped his strength, slowed his thoughts until he was reduced to instinct, driving him relentlessly, _deandeandeandean _drumming through his mind, over and over.

When he could lift his head, he saw the shadows, thicker than ever around his brother, shifting through the ice clouding his sight and understood at last, thought _it's real,_his heart twisting in his chest.

"Oh g-go-od. G-god-d, D-d-de-ean,"

He could almost _feel _his blood thickening, freezing slowly as he stuttered it out, not sure who he was praying to. His teeth chattered together, wild clicking that rattled in his head as he stumbled raggedly to his feet, toppled forward and managed to turn it into a clumsy, staggering stride. The darkness winding around Dean's form roiled and churned, nothing abstract or random in the motion. Sam's mind raced frantically, _the Ghede, it has to be. God. It's, what, manifesting through him? Possessing him?_

He splashed up to the very edge of the lake, stopped when his boots slipped and slid on the ice, still five feet behind Dean where the older man knelt on the shore. Close enough to see the way Dean's muscles were bunching, though, corded and taut where they strained the shoulders of his shirt, up his neck and Sam winced, rolled his own shoulders when they cramped up in empathy.

_He's fighting it, _he thought but it sounded a little too much a question, even in his own head and his hands curled into impotent fists. He wanted to reach out, to claw at the darkness so thick it was almost tangible, to tear it away from his brother but he couldn't even stand next to the older man, every instinct keeping him here, where he had enough footing to move if he had to.

_It wouldn't have mattered once._

His throat locked up at the soft whisper in the back of his mind and he shook his head sharply, ground out, "Let him go," and watched the shadows twist and slide around his brother. Dean's head jerked up, around and Sam saw the side of his face, slack and blank, eyes distant beneath the shadow that clung to his skin. It looked like some kind of bizarre double-exposure, a barely-apparent face transparently layered over the hunter's, scarcely more than a suggestion of sharp cheeks and too-deep set eyes. His jaw worked a few times before sound dragged out of his mouth, garbled, thick words, strained and choked as if his throat was too small for the voice forcing its way out of him.

"Samuel."

Possession then, if it could speak with his brother's voice, twisted as it was, so harshly that it hurt to hear, and Sam's stomach flipped once at the sound.

"Get out of him."

The older man's body twitched and jerked, rose clumsily to his feet, trailing darkness as the thing inside him rippled under his skin.

_Not like demonic possession, _he thought, rifled through dim memories of an awful, vast presence shouldering his soul aside. _It's just controlling his body physically. Not his mind._

He wasn't sure which was worse, found himself half dreading, half longing for a glimpse of torment in Dean's eyes as the Ghede turned him slowly, boots scraping across the stone.

"I'm not goin' anywhere."

There was nothing there, empty, bloodshot hazel that stared past him, through him, a thousand mile stare that dug his nails into his palms until his knuckles cracked.

"Get. Out."

"I tol' ya, Samuel. Whatevah 'appens ta ya both. An' ya knew this was comin', didn' ya? Ya could see it, 'ear it in ya brother ev'ry time 'e used what I gave 'im."

Sam wouldn't let himself flinch, cleared his throat roughly and edged forward a foot, boots loose and uncertain on the slick rocks.

"I didn't ask you to give him anything."

"Nothin' comes wi'out a price. Ya know that. Ya as't me ta bind ya brother an' I did, but this power I gave 'im was the price ya paid f'rit."

The Ghede walked Dean's body forward a pace to match his, jerky and graceless, tilted the hunter's head to one side and Sam shivered, ice curling down his spine, a chill touch so acute he almost looked back over his shoulder.

"D'ere's always a price, for ev'ryt'ing."

Something flickered, deep in the hollow void of his brother's gaze, an awareness that looked out at Sam and he could feel it, beating at his mind, a hunger that almost took him to his knees as it cramped viciously in his stomach.

"What do you want," he gasped, trying for cold anger and missing by a mile. The Ghede laughed softly, a low chuckle that was nothing like the gravestone cackle he still dreamed of sometimes.

"What's ours."

Sam snarled, pushed himself another step forward, fury burning hot in his belly, raging against the chill that dug deep into his bones.

"What do you _want?"_

He couldn't keep the desperation out of his voice, heard it bleed through as blood welled up under his fingernails, buried into his palms. The Ghede cocked Dean's head, stared hard at him from those empty, hollow eyes.

"We wan' ta come _home, _Samuel. This was our world, back then. We were gods. See? We walked amongst ya an' y'all worshipped us, it was so fine, Samuel. We fed on the belief, on ya fait' in us and we grew rich and full wi' it, bu' then the Chris' chile came and all the ol' gods were forgotten abou'. Can ya unnerstand that? Ta be so great, feared and revered in one breath and then ta be nothin', jus' shadows wi' names ya were already forgettin'. Ya left us ta wither away, ta hunger in the dark aroun' the edges of the world but now, ah, now Samuel, the world's so differen'. We can be gods again, all'a us. We're gonna walk on ya earth and make ya fear us and we'll sate this hunger a' last. We jus' need a gate ta come back from the edges, and ya brother, 'e's it. Ya gave 'im ta me when ya asked me ta bind 'im."

It hit him like a punch to the stomach, breath rushing out of his lungs, his knees going weak and he fought to stay up, reeled back a step but wouldn't let himself fall.

"No. You can't."

It pulled Dean's lips into a parody of a smile.

"Who's goin' ta stop us?"

Sam grinned in turn, felt his lips pull back from his teeth in a smirk that was more of a snarl and lifted his hand, fingers spread wide as he reached deep, blood pounding hot in his head, pressure building behind his eyes.

"I am. Get. _Out."_

He let the power lash out of him, felt it slam into the shadows – and _break _around them, like a wave against a cliff as the Ghede threw Dean's head back and laughed, the hideous sound grating and harsh.

"Ah, Samuel, ya've no more power ovah me than ya do ovah _parrots _like 'im standin' watch dere_."_

It flicked a finger out to the side and Sam followed it, saw the distant figure standing on the far shore, a pale blur of tan and black, trenchcoat rippling steadily in the wind.

_Cas. _"You sonofabitch," he breathed, knew the angel heard him.

"They don' care, Samuel, they nevah did. The Christ chile's soldiers only evah wan'ed ta grind us inta the dust. 'E'll leave ya both now, no matter that ya fought for 'im and 'is war. You're tainted, spoiled meat an' the likes've 'im will leave ya be'ind wi'out a secon' t'ought."

_There is no place in God's work for such abominations._

Sam swallowed hard, throat clicking dryly as he glared across the lake. The weight of the angel's gaze fell over him, settled across him like a shroud, cold disdain that made his eyes burn.

"Help us," he murmured. "Damn you, we did this for you! We did this to save your fucking seal so you _help him!"_

His voice climbed to a roar, bouncing from the cliffs and the ice that groaned around his ankles and he thought he felt regret flicker through the chill weight of Castiel's attention for a moment, poured every ounce of belief he had left into a desperate whisper, _"please." _

The far shore was empty before the quiet echoes faded away, the angel gone as if he'd never been there at all and Sam heard something break inside him, a dull _snap _that stole his breath. Weary rage filled the space where his faith had been, sullen resentment and grief that tightened his throat again and he stared at the empty beach, salt stinging in the scrapes on his cheeks.

"I promise ya, Samuel, when the Ghede walk this earth again, ya'll learn ta fear the dark the way ya used ta, when we were born outta the shadows. Ain't nothin' we won't take. Angels an' demons, man an' beast, we'll devour alla ya an' it'll make their Apocalypse seem like _nothin'."_

The hunter tore his gaze away, let it drift across his brother's face as the shadows slid over Dean's body, hungrily possessive and Sam shuddered, hoped his brother couldn't feel their touch as they wound around him. He forced his eyes up, met the greedy heat of the Ghede's stare, sharp edges of the ruined face he'd never managed to forget flickering over Dean's.

It was growing clearer, he realised with a jolt of near panic, the shadow thickening, clouding the sight of the older man's face. _Swallowing him, _Sam thought, and had to clamp down on the urge to send power snapping out at the Ghede, to just yank it out of his brother's body and soul.

"Ya want ta save him, Samuel?"

He curled his hands tighter, until his knuckles sang with tension, his teeth grinding together with frustration. It had been a long time since he'd felt this helpless, the power rippling in his blood useless.

"You can't have him, or the world. I won't let you."

"Ya can't stop me," the Ghede growled, sudden fury lashing the frozen waves, sending ice chips driving into Sam's face and he winced, threw an arm across his eyes. "You're an insect, Samuel, like a bug crawlin' on the floor until I step on ya. Did ya really think ya could control me? Did ya really think ya could _use _me wi'out consequences? _We were gods. _An' we'll be gods ag'in."

"No," he forced out against the storm of the Ghede's wrath. "I don't care what it takes. I'll stop you."

"Ya won't," the Ghede sneered, the last traces of his brother's voice slipping away, buried in the rotten silk of it's taunting. "Ya won't, because you'll always try ta save ya brother firs'. 'E's awake inside, Samuel. Ya wan' ta feel what 'e feels?"

And it slammed into him, drove him back as he heard it laugh, the thick cackle following him down as he drowned in the rush of sensation swarming over him.

_Pressure slick and so cold it burns his skin, tracing shapes down his back, his sides, his belly and he can't move, can't stop feeling, blind and deaf and numb to everything except the awful touch, greedy, hunger so intense he can't sense more than the first edges of it, the impossible depth of it looming over him and they won't stop, press harder against him, subtle laughter felt more than heard as he flinches violently inside the cage in his head when they slide into his mouth, push between his legs, filling him and covering him, every inch of skin buried in their dark, consuming him utterly and whispering in his mind _this is what it will be, this is what we will do to the world. _He wants to scream but his body isn't his now, some vast _thing _playing him like a puppet and all he can do was feel the shadows-made-flesh as they push inside him deeper and deeper down his throat under his skin,searching for something inside him, everywhere, crush him and hollow him out and leave him cold and empty and soul-sick at the intrusion, violation – _

He surfaced with a gasp, shuddered and blinked down at his hands, bloodless and trembling, heard the Ghede laugh before he was dragged under again, drowning in the raw spill of his brother's mind.

_They devour him, endlessly ravenous, their hunger like acid burning through his veins as they tear at him, stroke the inside of his skin, _mine mine mine _clamouring from hundreds of incorporeal mouths and he can't breathe, can't hear his heart beating as they fight over him, scrabble for every scrap of his soul, desperate to taste, to feed, to gorge themselves on the sensations crowding him inside his prison, cold sinking bone-deep, the ache in every muscle as his body strains to hold them, to contain a thousand gods and they laugh inside him, scraping at his mind as he screams and rages, batters at the walls of the cage until his hands bleed and knows it isn't real, knows it's in his head, a manifestation of their possession but it still sends panic storming through him when he feels them smother him, swallow him completely, whisper of the lock buried deep and he can almost hear it click knows what it will feel like when it turns when it opens inside him when _he _opens wide to let them through and they scream their laughter, their lust, their hunger for the world, their promise – _

"_Fuck," _he bit out, blinked and found himself on his knees again in the ice, shivering uncontrollably, the Ghede's laughter like blows. Sam shook his head, swallowed thickly, forcing the sensation of being consumed away and he pried one hand out of the frozen lake, dragged it trembling across his mouth.

_God, Dean, _he thought, pulled his head up and stared at the living darkness shrouding his brother like a second skin, inches thick and writhing endlessly from head to –

Sam gaped at Dean's boots, scuffed and wet and _clear, _the shadows twisting around his ankles but no further.

_Holy water._

It hit him like a salt round fired point blank and he didn't give himself time to think, to question if it could really be so simple, couldn't stand the thought of that possessive, greedy touch against his brother's skin, against his _soul_ any longer. He just lunged, threw himself up, long arms reaching out to grasp Dean's shoulders, sinking wrist-deep into the dark and it made the lake feel like a warm spring, cold so fierce it burned him, seared his hands and he felt them cramp agonisingly, cried out as he let himself fall back, dragging his brother with him. The Ghede roared at him, twisted away but he had momentum and surprise on his side and he couldn't have let go if he wanted to, his hands locked solidly into claws, digging deep into Dean's arms.

The water splashed up around Sam as he crashed through, rolling as he went under and the Ghede's roar climbed to a hideous scream as he pushed his brother down into the lake, ice thawing in a heartbeat. He could still feel the awful sound, even as the water drowned it, shivering against his skin, chiming deep inside him as he held Dean under, the hunter's body thrashing wildly. He held on desperately, tears streaming unnoticed down his face, his jaw clenched tight, grinding together and he gasped as the Ghede heaved up against him, breaking the surface. It howled, a ragged skull super-imposed over his brother's face, it's perpetual grin and his mouth stretched wide and Sam choked back a cry as he scrabbled for a new hold, spread his hands across his brother's chest and shoved Dean back down, thought he felt bone crack under his hands as he slammed the older man's back into the lake bed, pushed down as hard as he could until his brother's skin stopped rippling under his palms, until the agonising cold biting at his hands thawed.

_:: ::_

Coming back was like clawing his way out of his own grave only instead of dirt in his mouth he could taste ozone and rust. The world was screaming around him, something tearing, shredding under his fingernails as he ripped through the prison inside his head and slammed back into his body, opened his mouth to gasp or cry or scream too, he wasn't sure which and then it didn't really matter as his throat flooded with ice. He seized, sharp pain ripping through his side, felt big hands spread across his chest pinning him down against a hard, uneven surface and panic roared through his head. He flailed wildly, kicking and lashing out at the figure above him, choking frantically as stars began to spread across the black behind his eyes, screwed shut and he snapped them open, suddenly desperate to see who was drowning him, caught a dim glimpse of blue sky and a pillar of dark twisting up behind the silhouette he knew as well as his own and _remembered, shadows winding around him, hungry, greedy as they forced him wide open, pushed inside, filled him until he couldn't hold any more, whispered awful promises inside his head as they devoured him._

He stilled under his brother's hands, random twitches spasming through his body as he froze, horror stirring thick in his guts.

_We can be gods again, all'a us. We're gonna walk on ya earth and make ya fear us and we'll sate this hunger a' last. We jus' need a gate ta come back from the edges, and ya brother, 'e's it._

He swallowed water, darkness plucking at the corners of his vision but it wasn't the living shadows of before, just his body failing and for a moment he held himself still, thought _I can't stop them. They're going to come through, they know the way now and I can't stop them but if I'm gone, if I'm dead and gone..._

It wouldn't be enough. Even if he could choke down the need to fight that beat relentlessly inside his soul, even if he could forget the stark terror of giving in again, of saying yes and... _becoming _again, it would never be enough to stop them.

He lifted one hand, slapped it clumsily against Sam's arm and felt the tremors there as he wrapped his fingers around the younger man's wrist, wet heat splashing across his knuckles and then the pressure holding him down shifted, his brother's hands fisting in his shirt and dragging him up, holding him steady as he choked and vomited up silty water that burned his throat.

"'s okay, it's okay Dean, I got you, I got you," Sam chanted hoarsely, and he felt it more than he heard it, a steady rumble against his side as Dean leaned into his brother, let the younger man take the weight he couldn't carry now, the world narrowed down to the ice lining his lungs and the need to remember how to breathe.

Slowly, he gasped down more air than water, sagged limply into Sam's hold, waves rippling around his thighs, sodden denim scraping coarsely against chilled skin. He felt Sam shift, thought maybe the younger man was looking back across the lake and then Sam stiffened, swore softly.

"Oh fuck. Oh _fuck, _Dean."

Dean blinked his eyes clear, peeled them open and squinted past his brother at the empty lake, the scattered reflection of the pale sky bright and clear and it took him a long moment to realise what was _wrong _with that image, what was _missing._

"Hell no," he tried to whisper but his voice was just gone and it _hurt, _like razor wire dragged through his throat. He rubbed at it, tried to pull away from his brother but his muscles were strengthless and he just toppled sideways until Sam caught him, steadied him with a grip like iron around his biceps. A flicker of white motion caught his eye and he craned round, stared hard at the pale blur on the far shore. He tugged gently at his arm, still locked in his brother's hand, ticked his head up when he felt Sam's gaze search for his and knew the moment the younger man saw the tiny figure watching them, anger and fear and guilt roiling over him.

He wasn't sure who it came from

"You think he got them out?"

Dean drew in a short breath to answer, bone shifting in his ribs and winced, thought better of it. He shrugged gingerly instead, the angel's eyes raking across him, their heat not lessened by the distance.

_Please, Cas, _he thought. T_ell me you got them out._

Faintly, he thought he saw Castiel nod gravely, the slow burn of his gaze softened for a moment by compassion and then the angel winked out between one shuddering breath and the next, left them alone again in the shallows, miniature icebergs still thawing in the lake. Above, the smoke wound up into the clear sky until it drifted across the sun and they were swamped in its shadow. Dean shuddered at the thought, scrubbed restless hands down his arms as if he could wipe away the memory of the living shadows sliding slick and cold over his skin. His stomach churned but he was empty, hollowed out and it settled quickly as he rolled gingerly to his hand and knees, one arm clamped against his side.

"Dean? You okay?"

He didn't look up, could feel his brother's puppy-dog eyes and grimaced.

_Think you cracked a couple ribs, _he thought, jerked one shoulder in a shrug again as he pushed up, felt Sam splash through the knee deep water to hover at his back as he squinted out across the empty lake. It was clear, the thick, foul sludge tainting it gone as if it had never existed and for a second he let himself believe he'd imagined it.

_Hit my head and dreamed it all, _he whispered to himself, clung to the illusion but his head was the only thing that _didn't _feel as though someone had stripped him open and scoured his skin raw with wire wool, stuffed him full of iron tacks and broken glass and stitched him back up...

_Jesus, Dean._

He shook his head, watched the shadow of the smoke play across the water, scattered and refracted until it looked like a thousand winking black eyes against the blue mirror and tried not to feel as though his skin was coated with the rot that hung thick in the air from the tangle of corpses at the base of the cliff. He grimaced in disgust, switched to breathing through his mouth.

They'd have to move soon, he knew, to make their way back through the burning town to the motel and the Impala but he was too drained to move, too enervated to face the emptiness and the crawling sensation of inhuman eyes tracking them that he remembered from the deserted streets of River Grove, from Cold Oak and all he could do was kneel in the shallows like he had in the mud that night, shivering while the world turned around him.

Except nothing was really quite like it had been then any more. _Got a dead god living in my head, _he thought to himself. _Got a whole damn posse of them trying to rip a hole through my soul to get back to the world and eat it like a fuckin' donut hole while heaven and hell fight over the scraps._

_Christ._

He dragged in a slow breath that lit fire along his ribs, scraped through his raw throat and shuddered as it left behind a taste like ancient graveyards and remembered the way it felt as though his brother's name was tearing through his throat when the Ghede spoke, the way he'd felt its glee and anticipation simmering under his skin, raw power burning along his nerves as it shredded the demons and turned the lake to ice.

_I can't stop them, _he thought again, tired resignation laced with fear threading through his mind. _I can't stop them at all._

"We're fucked, Sam," he croaked.

_I promise ya, Samuel, when the Ghede walk this earth again, ya'll learn ta fear the dark..._

"We're so fucked."

~~HoC~~

_**Notes to follow...**_


	12. Notes and lyrics

From the very beginning of this series, I always had a pretty clear idea in my head where it was going. It was an attempt to pick and choose the bits of Season 4 that I most liked, and to ignore the bits I didn't – which of course, didn't work out too well. The show kinda comes as a whole, and while I had always anticipated this becoming more and more of an AU, I didn't expect it to diverge quite so much! It was pretty tricky, trying to balance the way Sam and Deans' relationship was going when this series didn't have the same trials for them that cannon did – chief amongst those being the fight for the seals and Sam's addiction. The seals and that part of the war do appear in this 'verse, but they ended up being far less important than the fight for the boys to overcome the impact of the Revenants and the Ghede and Sam's own increasing abilities.

I do have one final story planned in this series, concluding the arc and dealing with the Ghedes' plans and the problems Sam and Dean have faced so far but it's likely to be a while in coming. I'm planning (currently – I make no promises to this actually happening!) to deal a little more with what Sam's facing; the series to date has been heavily Dean-centric and I'd like to even things up.

Hope to see you there, and thank you for listening to me blathering on!

Cal

_**Lyrics and chapter titles:**_

_1: Echelon, 30 Seconds to Mars_

_2: Everybody Knows That You're Insane, Queens of the Stone Age_

_3: Closer, Kings of Leon_

_4: All Along The Watchtower, Jimi Hendrix (Bruce Springsteen + Neil Young live cover)_

_5: Straight No Chaser, Bush_

_6: God's Children, The Gutter Twins_

_7: Dark, Seasick Steve_

_8: The Light That Shines Twice As Bright, LostProphets_

_9: Lights Out, Breaking Benjamin_

_10: Idle Hands, The Gutter Twins_


End file.
